Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck
by Moon Shadow Magic
Summary: A year and a day after the Prince and Princess departed for the Story, their return to Goldkrone sets in motion a quest to rescue a kidnapped Duck. Elements of Stravinsky's Firebird. Rated T, no explicit sex or violence. Minor revisions 4/25/10.
1. Chapter 1

A year and a day after the Prince and Princess depart Goldkrone, they return for a visit and to research a problem they've discovered. Post- series. Rated T for adult themes (no explicit sex or violence.) Notes, program notes and disclaimer at end.

* * *

Chapter of the Duck

AKT 1: Exposition

_Once upon a time..._

_...a man had died..._

_ ...and a story had ended._

_ A city had been freed from the story's spell. A few, those who had brought about the victory, remembered it all: the Raven's wings over the accursed place, people and animals confused, the Prince without his heart. But now a new story had begun, full of hope._

_ The old story was all in a shadowy past. The gates were once again open. The beasts were restored to their true selves, as were the people, none clearly recalling what had been. _

_ Save for one. The duck remembered...._

* * *

_She remembered thinking that it was her favorite dream, although that was still a part of the dream. She could forget how listless and itchy and ragged she had become. She was talking to her friends, laughing, and dancing too, dancing _en pointe_ as easily as Princess Tutu could. And they were happy for her when, suspended in a _grand jete_, she was suddenly flying. She flew to music she had never heard before, and she cried because it was so beautiful, when she realized that she was flying alone through darkness. There was a golden light ahead, and a voice boomed...._

"Duck!"

The worried man on the dock looked from bank to reed- bed to muddy, pebbly beach and back again, a letter in his scarred hand. Finally he called out again.

"Duck!"

No sound.

"Duck? Could you come and look at this?"

Then he caught it, a quiet _Wakwak. _Somewhere in the reeds, he thought, impossible to tell just where. She really was clever in some ways. Two quacks, for example, had always meant _No_.And he wasn't in a position to press her, not if she wouldn't show herself. He had vowed to himself not to try his power on her, not until he could control it, and these past few weeks had been the first real test of his vow. The curious communion of thought that had enabled them to rescue the folk of Goldkrone had not recurred– yet; Fakir was wary of it, and Duck had not asked for it; it would now be an invasion of her privacy, and without such great need he would resist the temptation to use it casually. There were other means.

But this reticence on her part was odd, to say the least. Duck had been a constant companion throughout the long winter, to the point of sleeping in his room and figuring out stretches and poses of her own to practice while he warmed up and worked out in a practice room each morning at the school. But then the day had come when she had vanished, leaving behind a handful of yellow feathers.

"They're coming back, Duck. Mytho and Rue. They'll be here in a week or so. Charon's just delivered some ironwork to the house, the workmen are almost finished and they say it's all nearly as good as it was before it was abandoned."

"_Quack_?"

"I just got a letter. They want to see us both. Mytho says he asked for the fishpond to be cleaned out for you."

"_Wakwak! Wakwak!_"

Fakir sighed in frustration. "Duck, what's wrong? I can't help if I can't see you! Please! Come out!"

She didn't reply again that day, nor the next.

* * *

The mansion was quite a modest affair; royalty of similar means throughout the land might call it no more than a townhouse, and a small one at that. It had lain unoccupied for some years, in the midst of a tiny private garden that faced the park across the street. Prince Siegfried had left instructions to see it repaired and restored if possible, and Charon had carried out the commission gladly over the past year.

The Prince's return with his Princess, a year and a day after their departure, was all but a holiday. They rode through Goldkrone in an open carriage- and- pair. They stopped at the Church and the Town Hall and the Academy, and rumor was that they might go shopping on the next market day, although money was flowing freely already due to the work on the house. All sorts of notables, guildsmen and burghers, elders and students, and certain ordinary citizens were giving and receiving invitations to dinners and receptions over the next week and more. Prince Siegfried, his fictional origins practically forgotten for so long that he was new, was quite popular; and the Princess Rue was beautiful and gracious, if a bit quiet and reserved, and was fast becoming beloved by all, even those who remembered Rue from the ballet division.

Fakir got the royal tour, naturally. The house and gardens still needed a great deal of work– the Academy grounds that Fakir saw every day were in much better shape– but the dining room and ballroom had been the Prince's first care along with the private apartment and domestic arrangements. And the fishpond.

Most importantly, Fakir found them changed only in that they were now a Prince and Princess rather than students at the Academy. Mytho with his heart restored was the Prince that Fakir had thought he might be, only hinted at during the years of Fakir's childhood. Rue had neither faded into his shadow nor grown proud; she was instead happier and brighter than Fakir remembered, without the Raven haunting her.

As he had known he would, Fakir had first to explain about Duck. It was a relief to be able to tell someone at long last.

".... and then she just wouldn't come out. She answers me sometimes but I haven't seen her in weeks."

"She answers you? You can still talk to each other?"

"Of course. I made her a big sheet with letters on it; she points to them and I can write down anything long or complicated. For yes and no she quacks once or twice. Things like that."

"She can still read and write?"

"Well, sort of. Her spelling is awful. It always was."

It took Fakir a moment to realize that they were staring at him, and then they turned to each other. Then Rue spoke.

"Fakir, I want to be absolutely clear on this point. Duck has been a _duck_, but she can still read, and write, and answer questions and– her memory, her ability to do all this, hasn't gone away?"

"No– Wait a moment. You were expecting her to go back to being just an animal? Since when? All this time?" His voice rose a little.

"No! Fakir, Mytho and I figured it out after we left. We thought she might start to forget as time passed, and we were afraid she'd have forgotten us when we saw her again. She ought to be growing up, you know. As a duck. And so help me," she drew a deep breath, "after a year away, we find you worried about her spelling!"

"I'm more worried about why she's hiding! If she's sick, or hurt–"

"I'd hate to force the issue," said Mytho. "Really try to trap her or anything like that. I will not see her hurt, or humiliated–"

"Neither will I! But I don't want her to wind up as somebody's dinner, either!"

"ENOUGH." Rue's voice cut through the excitement. "I'm going out to the lake. Leave Duck to me for the afternoon. If I can't find her or talk to her, we'll go from there."

"Um, not to discourage you, but–"

"Fakir, I think I know what's wrong, and if I'm mistaken there's no harm done. I'll be back well before supper either way."

"Rue– what is it?" asked her husband.

"Trust me," evaded the Raven's daughter. "It's a bird thing."

* * *

Rue walked down the path through the park to the reed beds that stretched over halfway around the lakeshore. There were a lot of places for a duck to hide.

"Duck? Duck, it's me, Rue. If you can hear me, I'd just like to talk to you. Are you here? I've missed you."

There it was, a faint _Wak_.

"Duck, Fakir says he found a pile of feathers and then you started hiding."

No response.

"Duck, you're molting, aren't you? Your new coat should be nearly grown in by now. Is it?"

"_Quack_?"

"Didn't you realize what was happening? Oh, poor Duck..." Rue was horrified. "Could you come out? I might be able to tell whether it's coming along well or not, but for that I'll have to see you."

She waited a moment. Then, near the ancient weeping willow, the reeds rustled. There was a flurry of splashing water and angry quacking. Rue ran toward the commotion, looking for a rock or–

"Duck, I'm throwing a stick!" It whipped through the tops of the reeds. A lone bird charged out and fluttered onto the grass.

Duck stood there, looking up at Rue, who laughed.

"Duck, you're beautiful!"

"_Quack_?"

"Well, you are." And she was, or would be soon. Pure white she was now, only a few uneven patches left where down needed to grow in yet, but it was unmistakably Duck: blue eyes looked up at her friend, and sprouting from her head was her crest, now a tall snow- white plume. She let Rue hug her. They began to walk toward the far end of the lake.

"How are your wings? Have you tried flying yet?"

"_Wakwak_." Duck extended first her right wing, then her left, examining them minutely; then she shook herself, gave a few flaps and looked back up at Rue.

"Go on and try. I'll watch."

They were far enough away from the reeds and the other ducks. Duck hopped in again, swam out to clear water and took off. The result was neither graceful nor prolonged, but Duck squawked a happy monologue as she went airborne and circled for a few minutes, then descended and splashed across the lake's surface. The other ducks swam out, converging silently behind her as she paddled back to Rue, who found their persistence disturbing. They saw Rue's glare and fell back.

In the end Duck went with her to the mansion and the clean fishpond, quacking the whole way. Mytho and Fakir met them at the gate, mouths agape. The Prince recovered first and bowed low, and Duck allowed Rue to explain as Fakir swept her up into a hug.

She declined an invitation to the banquet. Instead she elected to explore the grounds until Fakir managed to get away and join her. Finally the last of the burghers and guildsmen and Academy worthies had gone home, and Mytho brought Fakir and Duck into the sitting- room of the master suite. Both Prince and Princess looked serious. Fakir was afraid they'd insist upon talking about Duck, but the Prince instead was taking a wonderfully- wrought casket out of a trunk. It was half a yard long and a handspan across, flattish, made of tooled brass panels, and decorated with human and avian figures in a style Fakir didn't recognize; it looked as if they were acting out a story. The central panel on the top had only a heraldic device, a red enameled eagle displayed, beautifully shaded in oranges. He set it carefully upon the small table.

"The box shows the story, we know that much," said the Prince, fiddling with a key. He unlocked it but moved to lower the lights before opening it. "We'd been sightseeing a few months ago in the mountains and had been hearing vague rumors of some sort of trouble, but no one could say just what it was or when it had started; years ago, people thought. There were stories mostly of girls missing, princesses naturally, and a beast or sorcerer who devours or enchants them; and stories about a moving fire on a mountain. All this time the same tale has kept cropping up every few years in different places when someone goes missing. I thought little of it, but the closer we came to one particular place the clearer the story became. Finally we met a man who had been found some time ago in a mountain pass, frostbitten and concussed but still trying to reach help. He had been carrying what's in this–" he nodded at the casket– "wrapped in a coat he should have been using for himself. He claims to be a servant of a prince who had come to search for the missing princesses, and he says also that this Prince Ivan vanished when they were caught out one night. Black monsters came, he said, and were driven away by a shining being who took Prince Ivan, but left this behind."

Golden light flooded the darkened room as the Prince opened the casket. Inside the box lay a single feather– a short wing feather, Fakir thought, barred gold deepening to red and purple at the tip. It was huge, filling the length of the casket. It shone with its own light, illuminating the whole chamber. Glancing at the Prince, Fakir took it out of the box.

It felt somehow still alive. It rocked and twitched in his open hand, it was warm, it vibrated. Mytho continued the tale.

"At the time the villagers traced the trail back into the pass. They found where the fight had been. It's a good place to camp, several miles beyond the top the pass. This man had spent all of a freezing night searching for the Prince, after being knocked down by a panicked horse and hitting his head.

"The man stayed on in the village. He's lost some fingers and toes and has nearly gone mad at not being able to do anything about his missing Prince. The mayor of the village says no one has been able to prove for certain where this Ivan was taken, but tells the same story of the high peak with the sorcerer in a castle and a moving fire; it overlooks the pass from across a valley and a lake. I saw it myself, but there were no signs of life in the castle. The villagers now believe the moving fire is something they call a firebird, at least since this man, Stefan, appeared."

"We would have given it up as a madman's tale," continued Rue. "While Mytho went to investigate, I spoke with Stefan. He...isn't well, and he doesn't speak much of our language yet. He does odd jobs for the local craftsmen now; he helped the smith make this box– the smith confirmed that, and said that Stefan designed all the decoration except the bird. He couldn't stand to do that."

Duck had flapped up to the tabletop as Rue spoke; Fakir lowered the feather so she could see. She waddled up, cocking her head first to one side and then the other to see it clearly. Even as Mytho held out a hand in warning she stretched out her neck and barely touched it with her bill.

Duck went rigid.

Her screech startled them all. Wings extended, she flapped back until she fell off the table. The Prince caught her before she could flee, holding her firmly until he could capture her flailing wings. Finally she settled, breathing hard, and he handed her to Fakir, who had replaced the feather in its case.

Rue turned up the lamps again with an unsteady hand.

"I'm so sorry, Duck. We should have said– but I thought it was just Mytho and myself, since Fakir didn't seem to be affected. It disturbs us, it's trying to tell us something, but we've never had any pain. Stefan was obsessed with it, he wanted that box made to hide it and then wanted rid of the whole thing, but even he can touch it. Are you all right now?"

"_Quack_," said Duck, softly. She was still shaking. After a moment she squirmed, and Fakir set her on the table. She looked at him, then quacked at his hand.

"Huh? Oh. Here," he said, taking a folded sheet from his pocket. He spread the alphabet out; the others found pen and ink and weighted down the corners. When all was ready, Duck waddled front and center, extended a wing, and pointed.

WANTS RESCUDE. FETHER CAN FIND IT. TRAPT LONG TIME AGO. THATS ALL I HERD.

There was a long pause.

"Who wants rescued?"

THE BIRD. THIS ITS FETHER.

"That makes some sense," Rue said. "What we felt was that we ought to go up into the pass. I saw a mountain peak and a castle below, a tiny one; and people in the castle, from above, but not moving– like flying over a painting."

"And I felt the need for help, and heard the most marvelous music," said the Prince. "Did you feel anything?"

"Not a thing," said Fakir. "Well, nothing above that it's still alive and moves."

"And Duck was affected most of all–"

"Of course," said Rue. "She's a duck. We were both infected by the Raven's blood. Fakir wasn't, and Stefan certainly wasn't, so they can't feel as much."

"That would explain a great deal, and it fits the facts. In any case," said Prince Siegfried, "aside from seeing you two and Goldkrone again, what we came back here for was information. The Academy has one of the best libraries in the whole region. I intend to speak to Autor and the Bookmen this week, if I can. I already have maps but I need to know more about these firebirds before I can plan anything. I remember reading about them only once, and that was in a child's story book."

"I must have missed that one," said Fakir. "But– Why should _you_ go? If you have a place, it's here in Goldkrone, or in– wherever it was you went."

"Firstly, no one who lays claim to that village or the pass has done anything for years. It's on a border, and apparently no king or emperor or government at any level has paid any attention to the area for centuries, beyond collecting taxes. It's too poor to fight over, pretty as it is, and it's very remote– like Goldkrone, there's no railway within miles, and the roads aren't good. The people usually don't mind; they're used to dealing with the few problems they have. Their baron died some months ago, after both his daughters had been taken. The pass doesn't lead anywhere important these days. So when we showed up and took an interest, the mayor thought we might help. Secondly, by all accounts people have been disappearing for the last few years, from all the lands surrounding that mountain. And the longer it goes on, the wider the territory affected."

"But that's not the real reason," pressed Fakir.

Rue looked at her husband. "You'll have to tell them sometime. He and Duck have more experience than anyone except us."

"I know," sighed Mytho. "It's what Stefan said, when Rue finally worked it out of him. His Prince Ivan wasn't just another adventurous knight- errant sort. He knows more than anyone about who and what he was after, and it wasn't just kidnapped princesses.

"He was tracking a magician who calls himself Kastchei, and whom they regarded as very dangerous. While employed at the court of Ivan's father, Kastchei encouraged his obsession with immortality, but in the end his experiments cost several lives.

"The bodies were discovered and Ivan imprisoned Kastchei; before he could be tried, however, he apparently committed suicide with a knife to the heart. Stefan found and examined the body, then went out for help without locking the cell. When he returned, Kastchei had escaped. Stefan said the knife was real, as was the wound he saw, but there wasn't enough blood. He joined the Prince on his search; they'd been on his trail for years when Ivan was captured."

There was a pause as Fakir digested all this. "I still don't see... Oh."

"No blood," said the Prince. "No heart, and so no ageing. He's hiding his heart somewhere else, maybe several pieces in different places. We never told Stefan why we were so interested. I wasn't sure if you knew why such magic is forbidden, but if someone tries it without his own inborn ability, he needs other hearts to make it work. It was what the Raven wanted of us, a fresh heart and immortality."

"Prince Ivan and Stefan knew all this, and still they failed," Fakir pointed out.

"They didn't know all of it," replied the prince. "They only knew that he had committed three particularly abominable murders and survived an apparent suicide, probably by sorcery. When they started out, also, there was no bird; now there is. All the stories say that a firebird has great magic, and that a phoenix is immortal. That may well mean that Kastchei has set himself up in this abandoned castle and started his research again.

"There's another point or two, as well. They don't know how he did it, but Kastchei did a bit of looting as he left, or more likely a lot of embezzling over a long time. He needn't worry about money or comfort, yet the mayor doesn't know where most of his food comes from or how he gets it. Also, I spent a few days in the company of the mayor, up in the pass, and never saw how one can cross the deep valley and the lake. It didn't take me long to realize that I was being shepherded. Rue actually found out more than I did from Stefan and the smith, and the smith's very extended family. They're putting strangers in the way of this sorcerer and his familiar, in hopes of saving their own people, we're sure of that. When we go back the local politics may have caught up with some people. At the time, though, we left before they could try to stop us."

"And you plan to go back– why, again, exactly?"

* * *

Notes:

This story relies heavily upon two stories combined by Igor Stravinsky into his ballet _The Firebird_. The first is the story of Prince Ivan and the Firebird; the second is that of Kastchei. A version of the Firebird appears in the Brothers Grimm as "The Golden Bird." Upon reading _The Golden Bough _I was pleased to find the tale of Koschei (sic; there are several spellings) under the section dealing with external hearts and lives. There is a duck involved there too.

I find Princess Tutu impossible to date, although if time has gone in a straightforward manner it's set in the present day. Still, I placed the action in a vaguely pre- WWI setting, where travel by coach and horseback is not out of place.

Program notes:

Since this is not animated, a complete soundtrack is not only impossible, but best left to the reader. However:

(from _The Firebird_, 1919 suite)

Background music for Goldkrone and various peaceful or domestic scenes can be provided by "the Round Dance of the Princesses." Duck's escape from the lake might be scored by "The Firebird and Her Dance", as might her first flight and her reaction to the feather.

Otherwise, Duck's theme might remain the "Overture" from the _Nutcracker_ by Tchaikovsky. Fakir should have a theme of his own; I think perhaps the theme from the _Moldau_ (by Smetana) might fit. The Prince and Princess might be represented by their own piece, very likely the _pas de deux_ from Swan Lake.

* * *

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	2. Chapter 2

Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck

For Notes and Program Notes, see Chapter 1; for Disclaimer, see end

* * *

Akt 2: Reflections on Nature

A few days later Fakir looked out of the rain- spattered window, down to where Duck was bathing in the fishpond.

"I've been checking for the past twelve months," he said. "Do you remember the animals? The walking and talking beasts? When the Raven died and the enchantment broke they went back to their proper forms. Our pianist isn't a penguin anymore, and I could swear I saw Mr. Cat last week. He was teaching half- grown kittens how to stalk. All the talking animals were transformed one way or the other. But there is one, and only one, instance I could find of a human vanishing."

"Duck's."

"Yes." Fakir turned from the window to face his friend. "Not Princess Tutu; we know how that was done. She told me once how she got involved. She saw you were lonely and wanted to help you, to make you smile, and Drosselmeyer offered her the role of Princess Tutu. I think, if that hadn't happened, that she would have stayed just a duck. But I can't be sure she would have been an intelligent animal. She doesn't remember anything much before you and Drosselmeyer."

"Her real nature is a duck, Fakir. It still is. In hindsight, it was even when she was a girl– she always acted quite a bit like a duckling."

"You're half right. We all were, including Duck; once I found out she never claimed otherwise, and at the end I told her so myself. But– at the beginning, when she accepted the role, she was a duck. Now she's a duck that remembers how to be human, who wanted to _be_ human, and she doesn't know all she needs to know about being a duck, like how to survive a molt or be accepted into a flock. Her true nature now isn't so simple.

"Most of your heart shards found people and things that were vulnerable to certain emotions, and intensified those feelings. The part of you that is Princess Tutu is the part that made it possible to survive shattering your heart, and was able to put it back together. Am I right?"

"Mostly. There's more to it."

"But that's part of it. What does it say about Duck that, when in contact with a heart shard, she turned into a girl? The duckling could have transformed into Princess Tutu just as well. She did, a few times."

"But a duckling couldn't have done everything that a human could."

"Fakir– have you tried writing about her? Making her change, or keeping her as she was?" asked Rue.

"No. Not since the battle." He looked again out over the town, without seeing it. "I need to know more. Influencing memories and even human events is one thing; stories do that all the time, not just Drosselmeyer's or mine. Altering someone living– I don't know if I could, or should. I'd like to be able to hear her again though, and let her dance." He faced them squarely. "I haven't tried to write her as anything different from how she was the day you left, either as a duck or a human. I haven't really put down anything about her at all, except what has already happened."

"Good," Rue said. "There could have been serious trouble if you had tried to change anything about her, because there's something else not right. She was a yellow duckling until a few weeks ago, correct? Half- grown?"

"Yes."

"Fakir, didn't you ever learn anything about normal birds? She's been a duckling since this all began, well over a year ago. A hatchling in spring is grown by the autumn. You should have seen it happen last year. There's something very wrong with her. Maybe not anything bad or unhealthy for her, but not normal for a duck."

"I knew she should have molted last fall," said Fakir, defending himself. "I know I should have recognized what was happening sooner. But I'd told her that if she felt anything like that, she should stay in the house and tell me. I suppose she panicked. But anyway– maybe she's growing up at the same rate as a human?"

"Maybe. Slower than a duck should, certainly."

"What do we tell her?" Fakir's quiet question broke the silence that had fallen.

"I don't know," said the Prince. "Perhaps she can answer some of our questions herself."

Duck had shaken herself off and allowed Fakir to carry her upstairs– she thought flying indoors might be impolite, and waddling up a staircase was impossible. The Prince had asked most courteously for her time, and she had of course agreed. It was tiring though; wings weren't really made for pointing, and using her bill gave her a headache from eyestrain. They asked her a lot of questions that Fakir had asked over the past year, in ways that needed detailed answers: what did she remember before Drosselmeyer talked to her? _Nothing, really. No, nothing like the thoughts she'd had upon seeing the Prince; swimming and eating, she supposed. No, nothing of her duck mother or the rest of her brood._ What did the other ducks at the lake think of her? _They didn't like her and never let her get close. They were worse since she went there to molt._ Other birds? _There was still the flock of songbirds at the Academy who would come to greet her, especially if Fakir brought bread._ What did they talk about? _Same as ever, mostly food, weather, sometimes eggs or nestlings or nest- building. Nice but not really smart._ Was she happy?

She hadn't wanted to answer. She was well cared for, all her friends were here talking with her, Fakir had been wonderful as had been a puzzled Charon; but....

The Prince, she felt, was able to see through any evasion she might try, so nothing but an honest answer would do.

"EVRYBODY IS VERY GOOD TO ME. I LIKE TO BE HERE WITH EVRYBODY LIKE THIS. I LIKE FLYING. BUT JUST A DUCK. REMEBER TALKING AND DANCNG."

Fakir had to turn away.

It was Rue who found words. "Whatever else you may be, you have never been 'just a duck,'" she said firmly.

"I wish I had Drosselmeyer here," growled Fakir in a thick voice.

"YOUD HIT HIM."

"Just as hard as I could."

* * *

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes, Program Notes, and Disclaimer at end.

* * *

Chapter of the Duck

Akt 3: Commencement

* * *

Throughout the week the Prince hosted or attended several events, dinner parties and concerts, outside and in, nearly every day. Some mornings or afternoons were devoted to an old man that entered through the kitchens with books in his arms, or a particular music student likewise encumbered, never both at once; other mornings saw the Prince slip out of the house, accompanied by one or two others, heading toward the Academy library or a bookshop before the day began properly.

Duck spent most of these hours flying. Her wind was improving, and she could feel her flight muscles building and her speed increasing. The speed was intoxicating. She could at last really fly, she could fly faster than a girl could run, and it was glorious, at least for a while. She could begin to see the world outside the town.

It was the only thing that could compensate in any measure for the loss of her dancing. She was practicing again, but there was so very much that a duck simply wasn't built to do, especially a full- grown duck. _Even if Fakir wrote that I could dance, I don't know that I could now. But how can I ever stop trying?_

And there was the other thing. While she flew, higher and faster and farther than each day before, the commanding voice in her head subsided. She knew what it wanted but knew also that the best course lay in accompanying the Prince when he went to the mountain with the castle. The incessant, irritating demand that she go there would be satisfied soon enough, she was sure. She could not do anything for this firebird on her own. She was quite certain that no mere duck could.

Perhaps she should tell Fakir about this feeling, though, or the Prince. It was very disquieting.

At the next week's end the four of them were once again in the sitting room. It was known through the town that the Prince and Princess would leave soon. Autor and the Bookmen had been useful, and Fakir was impressed that the Prince had been able to cajole them into helping. Stories and legends had been examined closely; illustrations had been appreciated and mostly dismissed. Rue and Duck were studying a rough map Mytho had drawn of the mountain pass: the main road curving around the eastern peak, steeply up past the guesthouse to the saddle and down again more gently; the valley opening southward with its lake; the castle above the lake and below the western peak; a line sketched in where he thought a road must lead to the castle. The feather was out of its case now and lighting up the room as the size of the owner was calculated.

"Monstrous big birds," sighed the Prince, "I hope it isn't going to become a habit. Bigger than an eagle or a swan, by quite a bit. Big enough to carry people off."

"_Quack_," agreed Duck.

"So," started Fakir. "There are firebirds and the Phoenix. They are not entirely alike but it's hard to dismiss the similarities, so we can't say there's no connection. We know nothing special about the mountain or the old castle. Aside from Ivan and the baron's daughters, we have no reliable names of any victims of noble blood, but several from the village and environs, so the kidnappings seem to be firstly of random young men or women and secondly of people who get too close while looking for the captives. And it is now late summer and we have to act all but immediately on this wealth of information, or risk an early snow in the mountains."

"That's it, in brief," replied the Prince in the same vein. "Unless we spend another year, and find what we can between here and the East. The village would like their people safe and their pass back, though, even if it only goes to worked- out mines."

"I should mention that none of us knows how to climb mountains. Until a year ago we'd spent our lives here in town."

"True. I brought the same thing up to the mayor. He said there would be help. Just to make sure, though, I mentioned it to the smith and his family, and they said the same."

"_Quack_! _Wakka_."

"You'll be our eyes and wings, Duck, but we can't ask you to pull us up a cliff. In any case, I think everything here is ready, and we can leave when we like. But now," and the Prince grew serious, "if you're ready, Duck–"

"What?" asked a puzzled Fakir.

"_Quack_," said Duck, looking up at the Prince.

"The one source of information we haven't consulted," said the Prince. "I asked Duck if it were possible for her to touch the feather again, if she could prepare herself first. She said she wanted to try."

Fakir looked rebellious and Rue anxious, but Duck looked from one to the other, quacking fast: obviously she didn't want them to worry.

"All right," said Fakir at last. "Calm down. I guess I should have expected you to volunteer." He stood up and placed a reassuring hand on her back. "Are you ready?" He felt her breathe deeply, and then she stretched out to the feather. Touched it.

As before, she stiffened, but the shock and panic she could now put aside. Once that reaction had subsided she saw, and heard, and felt–

_Her wings were huge and flapped so slowly, and she was so high that the air was thin, yet most of the time she could glide lazily; she seemed much lighter than a duck. Below, on a rocky spur sticking out of the wooded slope of a mountain, was a tiny, rundown castle of unadorned stone with slate shingles on pointed roofs, plain to see in the early morning sun. A terraced courtyard was peppered with standing stones that Duck saw were statues of people. Up here, she was free for a short while, and she began to sing, the most beautiful music flowing out from her heart toward the morning sun; but all too soon a discordant note sounded and she had to descend into thrall, the despised man below demanding of her some menial task or other._

_She could not break free of his service, yet she must soon, for did she not need to be free when her time came? Her time was so near, and she was so frightened...._

_Dark now; she hated to fly after dusk. A small fire, a pinprick glow in the mist, led to the mountain road. The monstrous shadows were attacking, and there were terrified horses adding to the confusion. She glowed and sang, driving them all back. She spoke to the one still standing; he demanded to be taken to her master, as they all did, in the vain hope of conquering him; but he spoke to her in a human tongue she recognized. Hearing the injured man stir behind her, she poured what she could of power and memory into one feather, and released it, willing it to return.... _

This time Duck came to herself, quickly releasing the feather. The compulsion to return the feather to the Firebird was very strong now. She turned her head to see Fakir, quacked to reassure him, and waddled to the letter- sheet immediately.

* * *

"That's all of it, then?"

"_Quack_," Duck answered the Prince.

"Well done, Duck. Why don't you get some rest? That was a lot of information." Duck realized that she was, indeed, very tired; she'd been so busy that she hadn't noticed the late hour. She hopped down to her basket near the fireplace and settled in, soon tucking her head beneath her wing. The others might be up for hours yet, she knew; but as she had nothing to pack, she'd hear the details later.

_Take me back._

The voice woke her, but she didn't pull her head out from under her wing. "_We will. Soon_." She knew without looking that Fakir would be stretched out on the sofa, and that Rue and Mytho had retired. One of the windows was open for air; the night had turned warm and humid, and smelt of rain. She went back to sleep.

_Take me back!_

This time Duck awoke fully, the voice throbbing painfully in her head. It was nearly dawn, and the furniture was visible when she looked away from the faint gleam in the grate. Fakir was indeed sprawled on the sofa, his form partly hidden by the table upon which the casket still rested. A line of golden light showed that it had not been locked. Duck shook herself and flapped up onto the table. Her head hurt still. Fakir stirred at the sound of her wings.

_TAKE ME BACK NOW!_

Now it was agony. Duck squawked in pain and Fakir woke, confused. Duck forced the lid open with her bill. Light flooded the room. She screamed at the feather lying on its cushion.

"_Stop it! Leave me alone!_ Stop hurting me! _We're coming!_"

"Duck! What's wrong? Get away from it!"

"What's the matter?"

"Duck!"

"_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"_

_NOW__**! NOW!**_

In desperation Duck reared, twisting away and flapping to get away from the feather, now blindingly bright and wafting up and out of the casket on its own. It caught an eddy, leapt away from the box, floated on the air for an instant– and then, as Duck wheeled away, it darted in and buried itself in her back before Fakir could catch it. Duck screeched in pain and took flight. She pushed open the window, sprang out and fell, and began pumping her wings, heading into a sky just turning red. She heard Fakir at the window calling for her but the pain had grown too intense, and the only thing that relieved it was the shortening distance to the mountains.

Prince Siegfried and Rue joined Fakir at the window, watching the speck of brightness diminish in the distance.

"_Now_ it's our business," he said grimly, his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I think that may have roused the household. We'll leave as soon as we can. Go tell Charon, and get your sword. In fact, bring Charon if you can; I'll leave the house in his care again. Rue–"

"I hope you're not going to ask me to stay behind. Again."

"No, love, Duck will need all of us, I think. But now we need to travel very lightly indeed. Gather what we'll need and arrange to send the rest on, if you would, and we should be able to leave when Fakir comes back. I'll take care of the staff and get the horses."

Distracted and worried as they were, they were soon ready. The household had been provided for, the servants paid, Charon had accepted the responsibility of stewardship once again, two trunks were ready for the mail coach, and the horses were ready.

They had left Fakir's liver chestnut with Charon, of course; Charon used her for what carting he needed. The Prince had spent a busy hour hiring horses for the journey, intending to change them at inns or livery stables along the way. The regular mail coach would carry their trunks, but by riding they might hope to add miles each day, and the inns would last far into the journey. It was a pity, the Prince thought, that the railway was so far out of their way and notoriously late. Even the mail coach was faster.

As they readied themselves Charon shrugged off a leather case he had brought slung over his shoulder, and approached Rue. Not quite sure anymore how to address her, he simply said, "Here. Take this."

She did, and opened it, looking back at him in surprise.

"They're easy to use," he said. "To cock it, put a foot in the stirrup and pull the string. The stock lies on your shoulder, and you sight along the bolt. There are spare strings and a quiver with a few dozen bolts. You're a smart girl and you can keep your head. Just don't load it or point it until and unless you're ready to shoot. It will be worth the weight. Here, we'll put it over the saddle- bag. You should practice when you rest the horses."

"Charon– thank you, I'm not sure what to say...."

"I hope you never need it. But though both my sons are good enough with their swords, I see they didn't plan for anything out of their reach. Take care of them if you need to, and take care of yourself."

When they finally mounted, the temptation was overpowering for Fakir to gallop out of the town, riding his horse into the ground within miles. But they could never catch up to Duck that way; they could only follow. Nonetheless his horse felt his urgency, and both were glad to finally break into a trot a mile out of town, through the drizzle that had started to fall.

The lands between Goldkrone and the mountains went from towns and flat farmland to small farms and pastures in thickly wooded hills by the next evening. Everybody was sore, especially Rue, who had only learned to ride over the past year. They rode through land such as Fakir had only dreamed of, with fields being harvested and stands of trees and wide flowing water. Mytho and Rue seemed, if not experienced on the road, at least sensible of its dangers. They were unfailingly courteous to other travelers but always stopped only when no one else was in sight, unless they found an inn. Each night was spent at one of the post inns, with the baggage taken up to their rooms, except for the second night when only one room was available; Fakir joined a few other travelers in the hayloft of the stable. There had almost been a brawl when two of the younger ones found that Fakir was a writer and a dancer, until he had casually tripped the more aggressive one and pinned him in the hay. No one bothered him after that, particularly when he mentioned helping his father in the forge. Blacksmiths were acceptable.

Each night the Prince studied a map, and showed Fakir how far they'd come; it would be a few days yet until they reached the mountains. Sitting in his room with his writing case on the third evening, listening to the rain outside, Fakir's mind was roiling. He still could not bring his thoughts under control. He envied his friends their composure, even when they had cut the day's journey short as soon as a storm threatened.

The feather had kidnapped Duck, but why? Rue and Mytho were in no doubt that it had a will of some sort that it could impose, although Fakir couldn't sense it. Why her? Or, from what had been said that night last week, perhaps she was merely the most susceptible and this abduction was accidental. The feather was a messenger, perhaps, but instead of luring a hero and an army to its aid there would be only a duck.

He tried, as he had each night, to write her feelings into a story. It kept his mind off of some other uncomfortable questions that they had been discussing; but each night before he had failed. Nothing had come to his hand since they had left Goldkrone.

* * *

Twice, after sundown, her exhaustion had overridden the voice, and she had been able to land and preen and sleep– once in the reeds of a farm pond, once under the exposed roots of a tree in a pool with towering evergreens all around. But always the demand woke her as the sun rose, and she had had little to eat during her flight until this evening. There was new wheat spilling out of a sack.

_If this is what a migration is like_, she thought, _I don't want it. I want to be home with Fakir, and Mytho, and Rue, or even just under the willow roots at the lake. It's pretty here but I can't enjoy it. I hope they're coming– I hope even more that they can put a stop to this, whatever it is._

_But I'm going faster than they ever could, and this thing hurts my back._

By this third night she was into hilly country closer to the mountains. The voice had been quiescent ever since the storms that afternoon, and she was so tired, but she felt another presence, human and familiar... also in her mind. She raised her head, looking about the dilapidated shed she'd found.

"_On and on she flew. She knew what her destination would be, but not what would happen when she arrived..._"

"_FAKIR! FAKIR, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I'LL BE THERE SOON AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'LL DO! I HAD TO STOP FOR THE NIGHT BUT I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM OR WHERE YOU ARE AND I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO AWAY!_"

"_Duck had found a safe spot to spend the night. It was as if a burden had been lifted, knowing that her friends were coming, and that they now had a way to communicate...."_

It did feel better. She stayed awake, silently letting her fear and pain work their way out of her until there was a little room for peace, and hope.  


* * *

"She might get there today or tomorrow," said Fakir at breakfast, before Rue came down. "All she knows is that she's going faster than we are, but that thing's hardly letting her rest. It interferes with me writing about her too; she never heard me the first two days – I thought it was me, from being out of practice."

"If she knows we're coming, perhaps she can delay things until we catch up," said the Prince.

"Can't say," replied Fakir. "We can hope, but she has no idea what she's facing and neither do we. We're at least a full day behind her, you thought."

"Yes. But we've been lucky so far. We've been able to hire fresh horses each day, but we're going off the main roads now. Tomorrow or the next day we may well have to make do with tired ones. In fact, I might buy that pacer for Rue if today goes well; she hasn't complained, but she's miserable. A horse with easy gaits would be a blessing. And we should cut back on our speed, in that case."

"Um. Just out of curiosity– when did you learn to ride? You were never really interested, in Goldkrone."

"I didn't learn, of course. Drosselmeyer made me a prince, with the usual accomplishments implied. We were able to find a riding- master for both of us over the winter. I couldn't teach Rue a thing about it; I needed to find out what I knew myself."

* * *

Notes: What Mytho refers to as a 'pacer' is not a horse with the lateral harness racing gait, but a lateral four- beat gait used by some riding horses in place of a trot. Such gaits have a genetic basis and many breeds have been developed around them, but they fell out of favor throughout much of Europe, perhaps when modern cavalry tactics and dressage emphasized the trot. They have survived in America and many other countries (including Iceland) and grow in popularity in part because they make a long day in the saddle a lot more comfortable.

Germany is said to be home to ten thousand castles. This would be a small one, not particularly picturesque or interesting. It would have defended the pass and the mines beyond, and taken tolls for goods going both ways over the road. (That would be under a reasonable, dutiful lord.) Never large to begin with, it would have started out as a square tower keep, in this case built over a spring for a secure water supply. Stone walls, small round towers at the corners and the gatehouse were added later, as was the Hall. Two sides of the original tower are still used as outside walls; it isn't one of the excellent concentric castles from Wales, for instance, but simply walls around a courtyard on a slope too steep and rocky to be entirely leveled.

Program notes

The Firebird's song might be adapted from the theme in the "Berceuse" (Lullaby) or from "the Round Dance of the Princesses," either of which can be found in _The Firebird_, 1919 suite. The "Infernal Dance" could accompany Duck's kidnapping and flight. For other suggestions see the Program Notes for Chapter 1.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	4. Chapter 4

Notes, Program Notes, and Disclaimer at end.

* * *

Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck

Akt 4: Dancing with Fire

* * *

There was a village beneath her now, surely the one the Prince and Rue had visited, for her way lay ahead between two peaks. Except for a square around a small green, there wasn't much flat space. Every house and even the tiny church seemed to be growing out of the slope. A wide road led up through the woods, winding its way around the nearer mountain. She followed it for miles, finally coming down in a small pond behind the only building she had seen since the village– a large house, right by the road, surely the guesthouse she'd heard them talk about. She was tempted to try for the fowl's feed in the cages by the back door but the past year had taught her that, although she could drop in, the pens would be too small for her to fly back out. They would raise a fuss at least, or attack her. She sighed, found a crust and some wilted cabbage leaves in the midden, and left them when she heard a door open. She kept on.

The road began its gentler descent a few miles beyond. From the air she could see a second track, not so plain, running below a steep cliff that faced the main road across a long lake. Soon it turned to run across the top of a ridge, a spur sticking out from the mountain. On the end of the spur was the castle from her vision.

It was twilight. The compulsion was lessening a little now, but she felt that it might flare up at any instant. How to find the Firebird and end the torment?

She was preparing to land on the lake below, when above her a golden light appeared. A song reached her, pulling at her heart despite her exhaustion, and a voice boomed....

"_Who are you_?"

The golden light had become a bird, the most beautiful that Duck had ever seen; but it didn't change the fact that she needed to stop flying.

"_I'm Duck. Please, take your feather back! It made me fly here, and I need to rest_!"

"_A duck_," replied the voice in deep disgust. "_Very well. I suppose you need to go to the lake. I can wait_."

Duck needed no urging. The glowing bird glided down ahead of her. Duck circled and found herself well able to see from the light. She splashed down, then drifted for a few minutes in relief; there was no time to groom properly, but she upended herself in the clean water, shook and snorted, and then paddled to the bank. From there it was a simple matter of flapping up into the grass to face what might well be an enemy she could not run from.

The Firebird looked her over thoroughly, sharp eyes narrowed and glittering. Then, "_Be ready. I will try not to harm you_." It reached down and grasped the feather; Duck felt a tug and a sharp sting, and let out a small gasp. There was the feather in the other's beak. It flicked the feather up into the air, watched as it drifted, and ducked its head underneath. The feather entangled itself with others on the crest atop its head.

"_Now_," said the Firebird. "_You look like a duck, you sound like a duck and swim like one, but what are you? I see that there was once great magic in you, and something yet sleeps in you, or the feather would never have chosen you. But I do not see how you can help me. If you hide here and leave in the morning, you might avoid the eye of the sorcerer. He likes ducks."_

_That's scary_, thought Duck. But if she could leave, she should find out all she could first and tell the Prince.

"_I don't know how I can help you_," she answered. "_What kind of help do you need? I've never even seen one of you before. You're so beautiful. Are you really a Firebird?_"

"_I... do not know, for certain_." Duck was shocked. The voice was suddenly heavy with apprehension.

"_What else could you be? Why are you afraid?_"

"_I am not afraid! I_–" She stopped, letting her breath out and looking away in anger and embarrassment; but Duck realized that the hostility was not directed at her.

The uncomfortable silence lengthened and the Firebird drooped a little. Duck was very tired, but perhaps there was a way to reach out to this creature, obviously proud but also humiliated.

"_Firebird. Come_," she coaxed, "_Dance with me_." She said it in mime as well, although neither her legs nor her wings could move quite as she wanted. The Firebird looked back at her.

"_I cannot dance_," she replied, intrigued. "_But I can sing for you._"

"_Please_."

From the Firebird came song, softly and then confidently, pure notes that descended the scale over and over but never lost their beauty or their hope; and to the melancholy tune Duck danced as well as she was able. The Firebird watched her dance, and Duck danced to the song, until each could understand the other's meaning. The Firebird was still watching, wondering, as Duck ended her dance.

"_Can you tell me what bothers you so much that you sent your feather away for help_?" The Firebird bowed her head, then began.

"_Some of my kind can change at will_," she said, "_often into humans. I have never done so. Some of us are immortal, however, at a terrible price. As the world defiles us, we age and tire. When it overwhelms us at last we form the only egg we will ever lay. Our life and our magic draws inward, the egg forms around it, and only the fire is left to consume our bodies and hatch the egg, and the cycle begins again. All I remember from my youth is that I awoke among ashes. I remember nothing from before my hatching."_

_"Once I had to change," _offered Duck. "_I didn't really want to, and I still miss being what I was for a while, a human girl. But if I hadn't, my friends would have died. I had no wish to refuse."_

_"But you were not alone," _the Firebird pointed out.

_"No."_

_"I have sent my song in every direction for months now, yet none have replied."_

_"I can only promise you this," _said Duck._ "If none of your kind come for you, I will care for you, as well as I am able."_

_"You would do that for me?"_

_"Gladly." _Explaining to Fakir and the others might be a little difficult, but having seen this Firebird, she had an overpowering desire to do all she could for her. It seemed impossible to contemplate any other course of action. "_But why doesn't the man in the castle take care of you?_"

"_He does not believe I am anything but an ordinary member of my species. He does not believe the lore that says we change form or are reborn, although he has always used my magic. He believes only what he wants to. He had power, even before he captured me, and no idea how to use it,_" she said, contemptuous. "_He is all the more dangerous, not because he is clever, but because he is foolish and unpredictable. Yet I am bound to him and must obey him, and must yield my magic to him when he wishes._

_"The Master has been seeking immortality since before he captured me. He himself has taken his own heart out and hides it, now here and now there, but he wants to find the secret to true life, with his heart in his body. He has tried a dozen times on others, and the only immortality he achieves is to freeze his prisoners in stone. Perhaps the worst of it is that I think they are not asleep but aware. But he draws on my magic for this evil, and I am shamed both by that and by my capturing them for him."_

_"People say he kidnaps princesses."_

_"I try to find clean ones, and I can tell the prime from the old and the chick, but I could never see the difference between male and hen, much less their rank."_

_"What can help you_?" An idea had begun in Duck's head, the notion that if she could find Fakir, there might yet be aid.

"_I do not know. Magic to overpower both mine and the Master's is rare; I can more easily find a magic to guide them. They are of opposing_ _kinds, incompatible. But I fear my time may be too short to find such. The feather was my last hope."_

_"What about someone whose stories come true?"_

_

* * *

_

Duck awoke after dawn with the feeling that things might go well after all. Fakir might be able to help the Firebird. They needed to free the statues, and to do that they would need to outwit Kastchei or overpower him. She pondered the problem as she dabbled for breakfast and preened. She hadn't been able to feel Fakir's writing last night, but she had been concentrating on the conversation. Far, far above her, the Firebird was atop the peak, singing, calling wistfully for her own kind. Duck would rest in the lake, and the Firebird would speak to her again later today.

Duck wondered briefly what had possessed her to promise to look after the Firebird. But for all her majesty and beauty, she had been so very forlorn and weary. It was not an unworthy task, and as a hatchling, alone..._No one ought to be without someone, _she thought. Nonetheless, what did a young firebird eat?

Rested and fed now, Duck decided it was time to do a little scouting. She took off, exploring the head of the valley. It ended in the saddle that divided the pass in half; the house she'd stopped at yesterday would be beyond it. There was the cart- track that wound away from the castle, over the saddle and back up to the main road, but it had been washed out here and there and was now mostly overgrown. Along the way there were a few trails that joined it too. Duck investigated. On the main road there was a neat pile of rocks just where someone could climb down. The Prince had been right; someone knew.

She flew back to the lake. The thin air tired her out quickly. The afternoon was devoted to rest and food, and a thorough preening. She saw no one, until the Firebird's song woke her in the dusk.

They greeted each other, and Duck told of her expedition. In turn the Firebird told more of Kastchei.

"_He does not trust humans to capture other humans_," she said. "_What your friends will face will be shadows that he sends out of himself. They can be called forth only when there is no sun in the sky, and only here, in this valley, near him. They feed on fear and in turn the Master takes it into himself for strength. Light can disperse them, but not ordinary firelight. It casts too many shadows where they can hide, and that builds the fear ever higher. I can drive them back with my light, but only a lack of fear will enable a human to bear them. It is strange that none have realized that the shadows cannot touch or harm them."_

_"If anybody can defeat them, it is Prince Siegfried," _said Duck._ "If he knows, he will be fearless."_

_"I should like to see him," _said the Firebird dryly.

_"One other thing bothers me, though. If you want help against your Master, why haven't you told anyone, or helped somebody who came looking?" _asked Duck_._

The Firebird was silent for a moment. Then she began,_ "It is complicated, and part of my captivity. But I cannot cause harm to my Master, or oppose his will to any great degree. If I do, then and there I will begin my death. I can tell you, because you have no wish to cause him harm yourself. I think you and perhaps even your friends are hoping to end his dominion and free his captives, but it does not matter to you if you do not kill him. Every single champion who has climbed this pass has wanted to fight him. So I take them to him, and he enslaves or petrifies them."_

_"How can they be freed?"_

Again the Firebird considered her answer._ "I die and Kastchei's spell is removed; or I withdraw my power from them as the spell is removed. But I fear Kastchei has lost the ability to restore, and may only curse, without his heart. No way is easy, and persuading Kastchei to do anything is very difficult. If we both die, they may die as well, entombed in stone."_

_"But– how did he ever catch _you_, if he's so, well...."_

_"Stupid?" _said the Firebird. "_pt slt n m'tl."_

_"What was that?"_

_"He put salt on my tail! I let him close, I wanted to see the magician that wanted to speak to me and show me a huge crystal, and he dumped a huge chunk of salt on my tail! I was gullible and greedy! So now of course I must serve him until he dies or releases me, or I die." _Duck waited for the stream of angry invective to subside._ "But he was better then– smarter, that is; he was never good or wise. He needs a heart, but refuses any, for the unending life is all he cares about. He has never realized that his mind and soul have sunk so low without a heart, and he will only worsen."_

* * *

Duck awoke the next morning ready to fly again. She had told the Firebird a little about Fakir and the Prince and Rue, and felt reasonably sure she could recognize them if she saw them. The only thing left was to fly to the castle, fixing its layout in her mind. Then she must scout the mountain house and the village and the pass; at some point soon she should intercept her friends.

Both flying and breathing were still a little more difficult at this altitude, but after her molt and then her long flight she carried no extra weight. After yesterday she felt that she was getting used to it. She climbed slowly, heading down the valley before circling back toward the battlement of the square tower, the highest vantage point of the castle. Apparently the top of the tower was used; a half- rotten trap door was open, and there were a few benches placed to catch the sun.

There facing the mountain was the main door– it could hardly even be called a gate. Between the tower and the gatehouse was the paved courtyard with most of the statues. On another side was a hall, sharing a wall with the castle and its end with the square tower. The battlement on that side was now incomplete, crumbled almost to the floor in two spots. There were holes in the lead- sheet hall roof and debris on the adjacent parapet. Below was another terrace with a few more petrified figures, and furthest down was a third yard, muddy and with dilapidated sheds and stables built against the wall, their rotted thatch long since gone.

She never felt what hit her.

* * *

When Duck came to, there were voices.

"Oh, all right! I wasn't going to eat it, you know, I've thought of something better. There's no fat on it at all, look, it'd be all stringy and tough. And if I'm any judge, she's not laying. That's good, very good. Did she get lost from that house down the road, I wonder?"

"_Let it go_," resonated a familiar voice. "_You've got humans to practice on, what good will a bird do?_"

"You're too soft, my beauty, and thoughtless as well. She solves one of my problems. I've wanted a new place for this for a month."

Duck opened one eye. The Firebird was just out of her view, but Kastchei was not.

He was a most disheveled, ordinary- looking man with graying hair, chin unshaven, unkempt, in clothes that had been impressive black robes once but were now merely outlandish in a dirty, threadbare way. He leaned a little on a dark wooden walking- stick with a gilded handle and gaudy ornamentation. What caught her eye, though, was the lumpy crystalline egg-shape in his left hand. It was deep red- brown where the sun caught it, like a garnet rather than a ruby, and very small for what she knew it to be.

"_And how do you intend to keep a duck?_" retorted the Firebird. "_They need water, and she'll befoul the fountain. You seldom remember to make food for the servants, much less a pet."_

"Come up here, duckie," said the sorcerer, picking her up and setting her down again nearby. She was too groggy to object. "Like this."

Duck's bill was forced open and the garnet egg shoved down, but it was too big for her throat. As she gagged he set her back down on the bench, squeezed her bill shut and tapped her smartly with his walking- stick as she tried to back away.

Suddenly her sight went dark. She could clearly hear one side of an argument– the Firebird's; Kastchei's voice sounded as if she were listening to it from under water.

"_IDIOT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE!_"

"I know exactly what I've done," retorted the man. "My heart is now hidden inside a stone egg inside a stone duck. That will sound nice when I write about it, it's all very traditional. If I can unfreeze her, fine. If not, I'll break it out."

"_THAT WILL KILL HER!"_

"So? It's only a duck."

_"–AND WHEN YOU REVIVE HER, OR BREAK HER, YOUR HEART MIGHT DECIDE TO CHANGE HER INTO SOMETHING ELSE, OR PETRIFY HER AGAIN! DON'T YOU EVER THINK? EITHER WAY YOUR HEART'S POWER IS LOST!"_

"Nice to know you're so concerned for me," said Kastchei sarcastically. "So I'll break it out _carefully_. I don't want it to start changing me in any case unless I'm almost dead."

_"IT HAS TO BE _WITH_ YOU TO REVIVE YOU!"_

"Nothing's going to happen to me here. Anyway, don't you have some awful racket or other to make up there?"

"_I'M PREPARING FOR MY DEATH!_"

"No, you're just being dramatic. Real firebirds don't do that, that's a phoenix."

"_CAN YOU TAKE THE RISK? REMOVE YOUR SPELL FROM THOSE PEOPLE NOW! WHEN I DIE, MY MAGIC GOES WITH ME! YOU'LL NEVER WAKE THEM ON YOUR OWN!"_

"I'll figure out how any time now," said the sorcerer vaguely, his attention wandering. "Stop yelling and go away. You're grumpy."

Duck was frightened now. She was absolutely helpless, and the sorcerer would kill her without thinking.

Then the voice rang in her head again.

"_He cannot hear me now._ _I am sorry, little one. I cannot go far from here without his orders, but I will find your friends. They are our best hope now. It may be, though, that you will yet need to sacrifice much to keep his heart from killing you. I cannot foresee what will happen, and the only advice I can give is that you remember, with all your might, who you are. Farewell for the present._"

The Firebird was gone. It was silent here, but still Duck found herself trying to catch sounds. Every other sense was gone.

Then came something that was not a sound, but an insidious burning feeling, spreading out from her throat.

_I wonder... can this hiding- place feel pain? What if I try...? _

Duck could not move, could not scream, as she felt it casting about for her mind.

* * *

Notes: There is no actual basis for conflating the Russian Firebird and the Middle- Eastern/ European Phoenix, except for a story.

Program notes: Duck most likely dances to the theme from the Berceuse, or Lullaby, from Stravinsky's _Firebird_ (1919 suite.) Another possibility would be the theme from the Finale. The Firebird's singing, whatever it may sound like, shouldn't sound either like an orchestra or a raptor's shriek (as Fawkes does in the movie _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_; that's a departure from the book.)

For the castle I could think of nothing better than some of the softer sections in the second movement of Beethoven's _Symphony No. 7 in A major_; a bit spooky, but more melancholy. Of course, much later I realized that the beginning of the Introduction to the _Firebird_ fits very well also. There is plenty of scary music available, but I think these fit.

For Duck's scouting venture, perhaps the "Dance of the Swans" from Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_ would suit.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	5. Chapter 5

Notes, Program Notes, and Disclaimer at end

* * *

Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck

Akt 5: Uneasy Alliances

* * *

"If we're so close, why are we going this way?" asked Fakir. Fine as the day had been, he had been more restless and impatient the closer they had come to the next stage of their search.

"Herr Braun is a cousin of the smith that Rue talked to. We need to know what's going on in the village, and the Brauns have a good reputation. Nor are they overly fond of the mayor. It's only a mile or so to his farm; we stopped with them on our way to Goldkrone last time."

The Prince shut the gate behind them, and he and Fakir proceeded at a good trot. Rue clucked, and the big, ugly, hammer- headed mare she'd kept broke into the fastest walk Fakir had ever seen. It had amused him for two days now, as much as anything could amuse him on this trip. The mare could canter or gallop, but preferred her own gait, never seeming to tire and never lagging behind. More importantly, the motion never jarred nor tired her rider. Fakir wondered if it would be a fatal blow to his dignity to ask for a ride sometime, although "biddable" was not in the mare's vocabulary. Point her down a road with the other horses and she would go until she was stopped, but until then she seemed to busy herself with her own thoughts for hours on end and resented interruptions from mere humans.

While Fakir was thus busy himself they were hailed from a field, and he was soon introduced to Herr Braun and what Fakir could only call his tribe. He lost count of the children he was introduced to, and the presence of several uncles and aunts and cousins further entangled matters.

They were invited to dinner, and then to stay the night. The Brauns were intelligent and observant, and quite willing to turn the after- dinner conversation into a council of war. At first Frau Braun was inclined to scandalized distress that a fine lady like Rue wanted to sit in on the men's business, but after a thoughtful pause Herr Braun asked his wife and the older girls to remain as well.

Most interesting they found it, too. When their cart arrived in the village for the market the next morning, guests were slipped into to a relative's house, and there was a great deal to tell in certain quarters.

* * *

The reappearance of the Prince was greeted with some puzzlement by the mayor and citizenry in the square the next afternoon. Siegfried had blithely moved his audience with the Mayor outdoors upon noticing that many of the townsfolk had gathered and didn't look overjoyed. Some of the younger ones were openly disappointed at the lack of an army, until the blacksmith pointed out that armies had to be fed and quartered and the Wolf in the Castle surely might notice. At that point Prince Siegfried took control of the proceedings, agreeing with the smith and explaining his needs: supplies, guidance, transport at least to the guesthouse in the pass. Supplies and equipment should be minimal, as it was by no means a military expedition, and he would return to the guesthouse in the pass or the village if necessary. Siegfried pointed out that getting to the castle didn't seem to be the problem, so much as doing something when there. He presented the explanation that had been agreed upon the evening before.

"From what I have seen and heard, the person in the castle is the master of a firebird who must carry out his will. This Master is human, not monstrous, although he has other creatures to do his bidding– perhaps not very efficiently, or he would not need to employ the Firebird as he does.

"Stefan's Prince Ivan was not the first adventurer to agree to be taken to the Master, whom he calls Kastchei. From that we may assume that her role is to take victims, preferably willingly, and that her Master has no fear of a champion who challenges him. This argues a great ability with sorcery, and probably great cunning with little honor. Both firebirds and the Phoenix are intensely magical creatures, and tales of their capture always mention the great magical power gained by the captor.

"Why Kastchei kidnaps people and what exactly can be done about it; these questions can only be answered by going there and finding out the answers.

"But before I go, I must have some answers from you." Suddenly his tone changed. "How and from where does Kastchei get what he needs, especially food? By what path is the castle really reached? How many have come to help you, whom you sent into the pass to be taken in the belief that your own people will be spared? Be careful how you answer, for you may be as responsible for these crimes as this Kastchei."

There was a pause, and then the Mayor was on his feet, obviously planning an indignant denial. Before he could sound a syllable, a voice boomed from the crowd; a relation of Herr Braun's, Mytho knew.

"We don't know where he gets all his food, or how– shut up, Wilhelm! He is the first who has had the brains to speak with all of us, and speak we will! Some of us have watched for years and not caught even a hint of how it is done. There are small losses from every barn and cellar and dairy, and meat vanishes from the smokehouses. But the best path to the castle is well known to all here who hunt or fish in the valley on this side. There is a trail that crosses the stream and climbs up the far side to the saddle, joining the old castle road. It is very difficult and steep in places, but every child over twelve knows the way. They dare each other to go closer to the castle. That is how my son was taken last month."

* * *

Fakir and Rue left the village just before dawn in the company of two guides barely old enough to shave. Since every hand was needed in the fields and barns yet, it was a remarkable display of faith from Herr Braun, whose family was already short by the nephew kidnapped the month before. The boys did, however, have strict orders to return the next day. The Prince had insisted, to the parents' approval.

It should have been a pretty hike, thought Fakir. There was a clear trail through evergreen woods; even the tiny rills were pleasant to contemplate, and the larger stream they had to cross descended in spectacular waterfalls. Until the sun reached them, however, the guides were apprehensive and silent. Max's answer to Rue's question had been cryptic: they feared the sorcerer's shadows. It triggered a fleeting thought in Fakir's memory: they fed off of fear, they were harmless to the fearless... had he thought that last night? Did he know because Duck knew something? Had he written it down?

They camped for the night without having gained the saddle. The Prince and his guides were to spend the night in the house near the top of the pass. The accommodations would be better, Fakir was sure, but Mytho worrying about Rue and himself would probably spoil his rest. Maybe. Perhaps the Prince thought that Fakir and Rue were safer here.

Friedrich and Max permitted a small fire, not quite enough to read or write by, although Fakir pulled out paper and pen. Nothing came to him. He took his turn at watch, his back to the fire. He woke Max and rolled up in his cloak, his head on his lumpy pack. When he arose at dawn, there was warm tea in the pot and the guides had already left. Rue had taken the last watch and was packed to go, but didn't rush him.

The path was plain, for the most part. As they climbed they missed it only once: they had to detour around a huge tangle of deadfalls, and struck a clear game trail above. It led them in the right direction but faded out just as the slope grew steeper. Fakir looked to their left, downhill, to see a break in the ground, undoubtedly the path they should have been on. They managed to half-slide down without mishap, going from tree to tree, until they were just above the path. It looked as if there would be a bank to climb down–

–And the mossy earth crumbled and slid beneath Fakir's feet. He twisted, trying to scramble back uphill, but it was too steep and loose and he kept sliding until Rue lunged to grab his wrist, and was pulled off her own feet.

He stopped as she hit the ground and grunted, his body from his chest down hanging over empty space. He looked up. Rue's right hand had found a root, only a few inches thick, and her left was holding him. He couldn't see anything close enough for his other hand to grab except Rue's arm.

He felt with his feet. They found rock in front of him; he seemed to have slid on loose soil covering a ledge, with an undercut below. How high up was he? It couldn't be far, not more than a few feet to the ground. They both had rope, of course, and no free hand to use any of it.

He felt a jerk through his arm. Rue had managed to pull up one knee, bracing it on a rock and kicking his arm in the process.

"Rue– just let go. It can't be too far down."

"Not– until– we can see–"

"Rue, listen–"

She wasn't listening. Another jerk, and the root started to pull out of the shallow soil, but her foot had found a firm hold. She began to straighten the leg.

It couldn't last, he thought; but then it didn't have to. A few inches, and more of his weight was back on top of the ledge; a few more, and Rue had pulled her other leg into place. In a moment he had swung one leg up, found a foothold, and was wriggling up the slope on his stomach. Rue let go and sat down.

Fakir rose to crawl to her, alarmed. Her left arm didn't seem to be working properly, but she shook her head.

"It'll be all right. It's not dislocated–"

He looked at her, and concurred. She was out of breath, but a dislocated shoulder would surely have left her white and probably screaming.

She flexed the arm, and grimaced.

"You'll feel it, though. If we can move over behind that big tree, you sit until I get a look at this bank."

This time they crawled on all fours. Soon there was a way down. Fakir went first and helped Rue. When they were both on firm ground, Rue faced him and held out her right hand.

"Friends?"

"You don't miss much, do you? Am I that obvious?"

"No, you've been the perfect gentleman. But really, Fakir– most of our lives we've been playing tug- of- war with Mytho as the rope, and I've never given you any reason to trust me. He's his own person now. For my part I'd like to put it all behind me, along with a lot of other things. You're my husband's best friend. I'd like there to be peace, not just a truce."

Fakir took her hand, scraped and dirty as it was. "I have to ask, though– why didn't you stop him from taking this on, when you were here before?"

"I tried," she replied. "To be honest, I didn't try too hard though. There are more than half a dozen families just in the village that have lost people. They miss them the way we miss Duck, and the way my parents missed me. Do you blame us for what's happened to her?"

"No, I don't think so," said Fakir, and suddenly he felt some of the anger and tension he'd had all the days since then drain away. "None of us could see what would happen, or I'd just have taken her home that night. I have a few things to say to this magician though, and to his bird."

"That's good to know," said Rue, "because we've been blaming ourselves."

While Rue rinsed her hands Fakir went back down the path. After a few minutes she joined him, and stared at the place where he'd hung. They might have let him down to within three or four feet of the mound of dirt at the bottom of the undercut; but there were loose chunks of rock the size of his head and larger littering the place.

"You were right," he said, simply. "I would have sprained an ankle, if not broken something. Thank you."

Rue nodded, still staring at the cliff. Even a sprained ankle could leave them with half of their strength. Even such a small and commonplace obstacle as this could do it. It was discouraging enough to think of attacking a castle and a magician without thinking of that too....

She clamped down on the thought. First things first. Get as close to the place as possible without leaving cover, and wait to see what happened when Mytho lit his fire across the valley tonight. Don't think about doing this with three people when all their plans had included Duck and the job really needed an army they didn't have, don't think about her husband alone with guides they weren't sure they could trust, don't think about trying to scale a castle wall to face a sorcerer. Don't think about–

"Fakir– do you remember what Max said about shadows?"

"Yes, I do," he answered. "I think it's important. It reminded me of something, a thought I have but I don't know how I have it unless it's Duck's. I've been trying to write about her but it isn't working. Anyway, all I remember is that they feed on fear and they can't actually cause harm to someone who isn't afraid of them. There's something about light, too; of course light drives shadows away."

"Does Mytho know?"

"Not from me. I didn't think of it until Max said that."

Rue was silent. It was either that or break out in loud hysterics and let Fakir know the kind of language that could be picked up in the girl's dorm at the Academy.

Far above, a bird circled in the midday light.

* * *

They hadn't realized they were so close to their goal. Quite suddenly the path leveled, then joined what could only be the old road to the fortress, a grassy cart track. The forest dropped away behind and before them. They turned to their right, and soon a patch of sunlight proved to be an outcrop of rock. Bits of litter and campfire traces showed it to be a stop for the young villagers daring to look at the castle. Fakir stopped Rue from stepping out into the light until they had looked around thoroughly, and then he had crawled out onto the rock, staying well back from the edge. After a moment she joined him, Charon's crossbow cocked and a bolt in her hand.

There was the castle, little more than a mile away, nearly level with them. They couldn't see many useful details even with Fakir's spyglass. They crawled into the trees on the far side.

As he stood Fakir realized how tired he was, and that this was a good place to rest a bit. He looked at Rue, who was drooping, about to suggest a break. It was pleasant here, while the warm sun was out and the music soothed him–

Rue's head jerked up, her eyes narrowed against the light, scanning the sky. She grabbed Fakir by the arm and hissed at him to stay awake and listen. It was difficult, and he nearly lost himself once more in the half- heard song; not until then did he realize that it was dangerous, and the thought roused him from his torpor.

When the Firebird landed on the rock, it was still singing, backwinging and touching down lightly and gracefully. Rue dropped to one knee, frustrated that her left arm wouldn't hold the crossbow steady.

The Firebird looked them over, coming close and sniffing, looking them in the eyes. Fakir had the uncomfortable feeling that she was either nearsighted or seeing things that no human could, and Rue still held her fire; but then the bird backed away.

_"You, with the sword. You have the same scent of magic that I smelt in Duck. Are you the one who makes stories?" _

Fakir glanced at Rue.

_"I can't wait long."_

"Yes, I am."

_"Good. Duck has need of you, as do I. But your companion– Who are you with the stench of raven's blood about you? Are you the Prince's mate?"_

"Yes," whispered Rue, startled.

_"Then you have Duck's goodwill, and mine. There is no time now. I will tell you what I can. Your Duck was caught by Kastchei and is atop the high tower, petrified as the others are, but now she also hides something precious to the sorcerer. Unless someone can open the castle gate, there is no easy way in without climbing the wall, but he does not post guards. We have until dawn tomorrow. Writer- do you take the wing feather that is caught in my crest."_

Fakir steeled himself, stepped up to the lowered head and pulled the feather out. It was surely the one that had started the whole business; but before Fakir could ask why, the Firebird spoke again.

_"You do not trust me enough, I see, to let me know where the Prince is, but I daresay he is one of the party now climbing the pass. I expect he will be the hero that challenges the sorcerer in the usual way. If it is tonight, we will have a better chance. Otherwise it will be entirely your enterprise. Which will it be?"_

Entirely too clever, thought Fakir. But– there was something about her, a barely concealed, desperate purpose. For some reason he couldn't name, he trusted her, and that very feeling he mistrusted.

"Why tonight?"

_"Because I will die by tomorrow, for this betrayal of my master," _she said. "_But now– your presence is known. His magic watches this place. He knows someone is here and I must carry one of you to the castle. The other must run there by the road before the wards are raised again; Kastchei can be distracted for that short a time. He has been roused from his sleep and will be easier to manage. If you do not try to fight him he will doubtless send you to the servant's quarters. He bespells the servants, but–" _her gaze turned to Rue–_ "if you agree to go, and raise the raven's blood that is in you, you can withstand his spell as you did my song. When Kastchei sleeps again you can open the gate for your companion."_

Wordlessly Rue handed Fakir the crossbow and her pack. "Now, wait a minute–" he protested.

"No. You'd better get moving–"

"Rue, no! We can't do this–"

"Fakir, this is something I can do," she said. "I can't climb a wall with my arm like this, but I can still deal with magic."

"Maybe she's just trying to split us up! Can we afford that much trust?" The Firebird huffed, offended.

"And how much good will I be if she takes you? If the Firebird is right, you might not even need to get into the castle to do what you have to."

_"I think he ought to, though,"_ said the Firebird. _"There is a fountain in the courtyard, a wellspring around which the castle was built. The stone around it has been worked and smoothed, and will suit the purpose. What you must do is write Duck, and the cursed statues, and myself back to life. There will be something in the quill for you to write with when the time comes, but what you write on cannot burn."_

"Fakir, please. Go now. I'll be all right. I understand this kind of spell."

"If you're not, I've got to tell Mytho!"

"And I'd have to tell him about you. Worse, I'd have to explain to Duck. Get going!"

_"I have never dropped anyone," _added the Firebird helpfully.

He didn't go until the Firebird had grasped her arms and disappeared over the cliff. Then he ran through the dark green tunnel under the cliff that was the path to the sorcerer's lair. A mile or so later he was creeping up to the wall as silently as his breathing would allow. There was no sign of movement on any of the towers or the wall. Somewhere inside, though, a woman was crying hysterically, a man was shouting angrily, and the Firebird's voice vibrated unintelligibly right through the walls.

Fakir crawled underneath a bush by the gatehouse and left them to it, hoping that Rue wasn't overdoing it. Suddenly her voice quieted, and man and Firebird ended their argument. A shadow swept overhead, and the Firebird was gone. There was nothing to do but wait, at least for a while. What, his suspicions asked, if Rue hadn't been able to resist the spell or had been turned to stone? When would he dare to try the wall? At least there were trees big enough to climb and close enough to the wall. This place had obviously lain abandoned for centuries.

It wasn't comfortable in his hiding- place, but he was able to eat and drowse a little until the evening's chill and a faint creak roused him.

Not quite evening, he realized; the sun had merely sunk behind the mountain, and was still shining on the top of the high tower. He waited a few minutes, then crept as quietly as he could out of the bush.

Finally he could put his eye to a crack in the ancient planks. No movement. The creak had come, not from the great gate, but the smaller door set into it, wedged open now with a stick, and with oil soaking the rusted hinges. It didn't make too much noise.

He moved behind the nearest statue and studied the place, concluding that Rue might not have been faking hysteria. A dozen or so stone people were scattered about the courtyard, which was ringed with unlit torches. Directly in front of him was the square tower, thick and squat and old, arrow- loops on the bottom giving way to small windows with arched tops on the uppermost storey; built against it, to his left, was what passed for a Great Hall, in a much later style.

As he moved quietly across the yard the faces he saw were surprised or angry or in pain. Even in the afternoon shade of a bright day it was unnerving. There was no movement. He picked his way carefully from statue to statue, having to avoid rubbish at every step; the only sound was the incongruously cheerful tinkling of the fountain in the base of the square tower, set into its wall. Men in hunting or hiking dress, a uniform or two, men and women from field or pasture in work clothes. None of the statues was Rue. He reached the tower and, although expecting the sound, he started at an unmistakably human hiss. The tower door was not set at ground level, but well above; Fakir climbed the wooden staircase carefully. Rue met him outside the doorway, a finger to her lips.

"All right?"

"Fine. You?" She nodded, motioning for her pack. Leaning close to whisper in his ear, she said, "He's asleep. Night owl. The servants won't notice us. Fakir, whatever you do, don't touch any closed doors in here, not while he's asleep. Come, I've found Duck."

The entry was a tunnel nearly twenty feet long, the whole way through the thick wall. The inside door was stuck open, Fakir realized, sagging on loose hinges; there hadn't even been a door anymore on the outside. _What did this sorcerer do in winter, _he wondered. This first floor was a combination of smoothed bedrock and pavement with a round stone in the middle of the floor. An iron ring was set in it. There was furniture heaped in one corner, dusty and broken, and the remains of hangings on the walls; but opposite that was another pile– some newer furniture, crates, rolls of tapestry and rugs, smaller bags with lumpy contents, all with layers of dust beginning to hide the colors. Stairs wound down through the floor, surely to the kitchens and a door to the Hall. Facing those, another staircase rose to disappear into an arch, turning to climb through the wall itself. At the first landing Rue once again put a finger to her lips. They edged past a door, and another at the next landing, and then light and whistling air came through an open trapdoor. They emerged at the top of the tower.

Fakir nearly forgot to be quiet. Duck had been frozen while trying to back away from her captor; that much was obvious. The eyes that should have been bright blue had been wide with shock, the wings half- raised.

He remembered only kneeling in front of her and staring, not daring to touch her, whispering her name. When he could finally sense his surroundings again, Rue was gripping his shoulder and the Firebird was sitting over the door, singing softly. He shook with the effort of not shouting at them, of not running headlong downstairs to drag out the sorcerer and force him to lift the curse, even if it meant his own death. Finally he mastered himself; Rue, her own eyes bright, released him as he relaxed.

"You've done your part, and you were telling the truth," he admitted to the Firebird, none too graciously. "Now what happens?"

_"Once the Sun has gone down Kastchei will awaken, and eat, and will remain awake for the night, working on his spells. If he sees your Prince's campfire, he will send his shadows out to spread fear, and send me after to bring the Prince here. You must hide elsewhere, for he will come here to watch. Do not go to the kitchens; he locks the servants in each night after he has eaten._

_"A word for you alone, writer_–" Her beak touched his chest as she looked him in the eye._ "You must write that Kastchei's spell is removed as my power fades at my death. I... feel that I will be fortunate to see the sunrise._

_"There is something else. I told you that Duck hides something of the sorcerer's. It is his heart, placed in her throat before he cursed her. It was ill done, for when the spell is removed the heart will know she is changing and will unleash the power that Kastchei has stored in it, unless Kastchei removes the curse himself. The heart will stay quiet for him alone, as it did when he placed the curse."_

"And that means what, exactly?"

_"I do not know. If she is fortunate it will change her back to stone, or into a shape in which she can survive. There are too many things that might happen, too many of them fatal. Such a small body cannot withstand both spells opposing one another. It cannot be left to the heart to choose. It is Kastchei's, it cannot be trusted to do right. Therefore, when you remove the curse, you must also account for the heart. It must be allowed to spend itself, so that Kastchei will be vulnerable; the most certain course is to have it alter her form. She said she has done so before." _She removed her beak, and Fakir realized that Rue and Duck were included now.

_ "Your Duck offered to find me when I am to be reborn, and care for me when I am a hatchling once more. Instead this happened," _she said, indicating the statue._ "I cannot stop my fate now, but I will to put it to use. I have given you all the aid I can think of giving, save for one thing. If you will, lay your hands on me."_

They did so, each of them placing a hand on her neck. She was warm, thought Fakir, and her coat was very soft, like Duck's had been; so much at odds with the Firebird's haughty manner. She touched her beak to Duck, and half- raised her wings to enclose them all.

Through their hands, as well as their ears, came music. The Firebird was singing to them, so softly that the sound would go no further than themselves. She seemed to sing of themselves, their fears and doubts; then of strength and resolution, and finally of joy, deep and lasting.

They stood, dumbfounded, as the last note drew away and her wings folded.

"_Remember my song, Prince's mate, when you feel your raven's blood rise in you, and you will master it. It can never more rule your fate without your will, but that has been your doing, and none of mine._

_ "You, writer, your doubts and your anger ever trouble you. They are part of your strength, but remember that there is joy as well, and worthy trust, and hope, as I have learned._

_ "Now speak to your friend, and she will hear you. Then go, before Kastchei awakens." _

They descended the stairs again. Fakir wanted to wait out the hours atop one of the small round towers with a pointed roof between themselves and Kastchei's vantage point; but Rue demurred, since she was supposed to be one of the servants. She chose to stay in the square tower, in case Kastchei called for her, but wanted Fakir to keep watch as he'd planned. In the end he agreed. They drank from the fountain, refilling their canteens and hiding Rue's pack, and he picked the tower that looked out over the valley rather than the gatehouse: not only would he be able to see what happened, but the door was broken and hanging by one hinge. Fakir was able to squeeze past. He'd been afraid of a wooden stair or even just a fragile ladder inside, but to his relief there was a narrow stone stairway. The dangerous part was the door onto the battlement, which faced the inside of the fortress. He used the oil Rue had given him liberally. It was Kastchei's after all, from the kitchen. If Kastchei heard the squeak there was no sign. Fakir settled in to wait, pulling a few biscuits out of his pack, suspecting they would taste like sawdust. He had a lot to think about. The sun was nearly gone.

* * *

Notes: Once upon a time the ladies and children might be expected to retire to another room after a dinner, leaving the men to discuss important and weighty matters, or so they said. Nowadays the men retire to the game on TV while the women stay and talk as they clear the table. This is not a hard and fast rule, however, depending on who's playing.

Program Notes: The only real addition is Fakir's walk among the petrified captives; I suggest the Berceuse (or Lullaby) again, from Stravinsky's _The Firebird_ (1919 suite.) The orchestrated piece is appropriately creepy.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	6. Chapter 6

Notes, Program Notes, and Disclaimer at end.

* * *

My thanks to those who have read so far, and in particular to Lunasphere, who has taken so much time to leave complete reviews. I am so gratified to have someone review my work who has thought about many of the same questions I had.

* * *

Akt 6: Long Night

Prince Siegfried wished he could sleep longer. He had slept only lightly the night before at the guesthouse in the pass, thinking about Rue and Fakir and Duck, and ready for any attempt at treachery within his own party; and he would likely get no more tonight. As they had topped the pass one of the party had seen a red- gold flash through the trees, and he himself had seen a bird circling, far above. He hadn't felt easy since, thinking about the others, and the men were muttering among themselves.

He was of a mind to send his guides away with the horses once they reached the spot and helped him set up camp. It was still early enough for them to reach the guesthouse again if he did. Only one man objected, the smith who had made the casket for the feather and whom the Prince felt was trustworthy; and so he was able to rest after all, since by then it was still afternoon. He roused and ate as the day waned and grew cool, and decided that it was time to change clothes after they had gathered enough firewood to last the night.

It was good to hear Karl Schmidt laugh. Siegfried hadn't warned him, and had emerged from the trees wearing clothes that looked as if they had been out of fashion for three centuries and more, and with a sword of an even older pattern. When he asked, the Prince explained: it wasn't just a costume but a dancer's costume; he knew he could move and fight in it, and judging by Karl's reaction, the sorcerer might be incapacitated for quite a while without a blow being struck. That produced more laughter.

All amusement ceased as it grew darker. The Prince sat between the bright fire and the castle, wrapped in his cloak, watching. He ran music through his mind, Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Saint-Saens, Strauss, every piece by every composer he had ever danced to that he could remember; he went over and over every scrap of information about Kastchei, the Firebird, and the village; he watched the moon and the stars set. And always there was the memory of jumping out of bed, bursting through the door a half- step ahead of his wife, seeing a plume of light bury itself between Duck's wings and hearing her scream... The one thing he had never told Herr Braun or Karl Schmidt, or anyone else on their travels, was that he had come back first and foremost to rescue a duck, and how afraid he had been as they rode for the mountains that Duck was gracing someone's table behind them. Some laughter wasn't to be borne. Fakir's gift had been a blessing that one morning, when he'd been able to tell them about her.

He wondered whether they had gotten as far as the castle, and whether they suspected him of trying to keep them out of harm's way. Probably they did. Almost certainly it wouldn't work the way they'd all planned; Rue and Fakir were both capable, but woods-craft was what they'd need and neither knew any– Goldkrone wasn't the place to learn it, nor were any of the places he'd been with Rue. Ideally, he would have left them both behind, but there'd been no chance of that once Duck was taken. He hoped he was giving them at least the chance to trust each other a bit more. At least neither bore the other ill will now, of that he was sure. Even that little was something.

Fakir had changed a little during the year they'd been away: still that mix of rigid calculation and hot temper, and still sarcastic, of course; nonetheless more easygoing. All those years, he remembered, and Fakir had barely smiled. He did now, though awkwardly, and almost always because of Duck. Would he have done that, wondered the Prince, if Duck had stayed human? It was a little disconcerting to think that he might have. Charon had treated them both as his sons, and Fakir had, out of desperation, adopted the role of Mytho's caretaker. In all that time he had never seemed to notice any of the girls. He'd been rude to everyone equally except Raetzel and Charon. Maybe it was that Duck had been– and still was– polite only up to a point, after which she'd be just as rude back to him.

It was amazing how well Duck could communicate. A buffeting from her wings wasn't to be ignored, either. _At least this time Fakir's taking care of someone who can take care of herself,_ thought Mytho; though that hadn't stopped her from staying out of this trouble.

He hoped fervently that Rue was all right. The past year had not always run smoothly with them, but Rue was determined to be Rue and never again Kraehe. Watching her heal had been his great joy. It might take a long time yet, but the day would surely come when they could both bear the shame of their memories.

_Dancers,_ he thought. _School friends, never away from civilization like this in our lives. The only chance we have is that we're facing magic, and we've had experience with that. No one else has faced Kastchei knowing anything about it, apparently. The world seems to have forgotten it outside of Goldkrone._

Behind him Karl stirred, rose, added wood to the fire. "Well past midnight," he said. "Any sign?"

"Not yet," replied the Prince.

* * *

Fakir had seen the fire across the valley, and waited. And waited. There was a light showing through a chink in the top floor's window curtains; Kastchei was awake, and had been all this time. More time passed. Fakir used it to compose the story that the Firebird needed. The Firebird had to be reborn, the curse lifted from Duck and the others, Kastchei's heart kept from killing Duck, and all at once. Duck would not want to return to stone, of course, none of them wanted that. From what she'd said last year, and a week ago, she'd be happy to be a girl again. Did she still want that, since she'd been an adult duck now for a while? She liked to fly. Would she be content as a duck if she could talk? Or perhaps as a swan? When Princess Tutu had rescued him from the Bookmen, and before that when she had caught Mytho as he had jumped out a window, everyone else had seen her as a swan. Why had Drosselmeyer picked a duckling and not a cygnet?

He realized that he was avoiding the real issue. Even with the Firebird's blessing, even using Kastchei's heart, was his gift powerful enough to change a bird into a human? What would happen to her if he simply weren't strong enough to do all of this? What if he _was_ capable and cheated her, settling for something less than what he could really do? For the past year such questions had plagued him. Now Duck's very life lay in his hands, and his alone, unless the sorcerer hurt the statue first. In the dark, alone, waiting for something to happen, the responsibility felt overwhelming.

And if she did become human, and lived... would she want him to fulfill his vow to stay by her? Would she need more freedom than he could offer? _Leave that for later,_ he ordered himself sternly. _This is for her, not for you. Do what must be done first. Keep her alive._

He was tired, his thoughts beginning to run in circles, and it occurred to him that he was making things complicated. Duck had been a girl once; she knew what it felt like, something in her surely remembered how to change into that form. Her mind could handle it; it was in no manner the mind of a duck, as they had all borne witness. He had argued in the Prince's sitting- room that Duck was not as she should be. Perhaps he should trust himself, or had he simply been railing against her– their– fate?

He didn't realize he'd been drowsing until he heard wings flapping. Was it his imagination or was the sky deep blue rather than black? The stars had changed position too. When he turned to look for the Prince's fire, eastwards across the valley, the sky was silver- blue. A dimly luminous form swept in front of the square tower, making the curtains flap. In a few minutes there was a light from the top of the tower. Apparently the Firebird had grown impatient. She joined Kastchei, alighting on the battlement.

Suddenly Fakir noticed that there seemed to be a blacker shape atop the tower, obscuring her glow. Just as quickly it was gone. Kastchei's shadows?

Some time after the Firebird dropped off the battlement to glide across the valley, glowing more brightly. It was too far to make out any detail, of course. Abruptly Fakir moved. Did Kastchei meet his victims up there, or down in the yard where they were frozen? Either way, he ought to get down there. He crept around to the door. The oil had soaked in and it creaked sharply. Fakir crawled inside and down the stairs.

He didn't go out the door at once. Kastchei had a lantern that reached this far, and he was evidently sweeping this tower with it; its beam of light periodically entered the doorway. Fakir dropped to the ground and wriggled until he could see past the broken door. The Firebird was circling now, and the light vanished. Fakir edged outside and ran for the angle between the wall and the Great Hall. The dark shape he saw there was the door to the Hall, standing open now. Beside it was Rue.

* * *

Karl Schmidt had given up on sleep for the night, and this Prince wasn't too proud to talk to a commoner. Karl was careful not to ask prince of where exactly, as he seemed not to use a surname. He was an odd one, though, more so than his lady wife. She'd been a proper lady, and her patience with poor Stefan had been little short of astounding. But they both presented a puzzle. Strangers had shown up before, willing to try conclusions with the Wolf in the Castle, and none had returned from there. This one had seemed to notice nothing but what that idiot Mayor Wilhelm wanted him to notice, last time, and then they had both left in almost unseemly haste. Then he had returned, apparently alone. He had turned the tables on them, bearding the foolish Mayor and cowing everybody else. Karl knew, as the other guides had not, just how much this Prince had staked on the adventure, sending his own wife and his one companion knight around by the hunters' trail to see if anything could be done that way. No one had mentioned seeing the circling bird as they topped the pass that noontide, but Karl was somehow sure the Prince knew. He mentioned it now.

_And what kind of man sends his wife on this kind of mission,_ he wondered. Liesl had wondered too, old- fashioned as she was, almost as indignant that such a lady would be wearing trousers as that she would be going in the company of another man, even if the Prince called him a knight. Thank goodness his nephews Max and Friedrich weren't quite old enough to understand that one, but they would have been home hours before now if all had gone as it should.

Still, as they talked, Karl made bold to ask this Prince why....

The Prince was silent for a moment, but not angry at the presumption. Then he began.

"We've told no one else," he said. "One of our friends was taken, someone very close to my knight Fakir. That feather that Stefan gave us– it cursed her– well, she's a bird now, and we're sure she flew this far. Fakir has been able to– um, sense her, to feel some of her thoughts. I couldn't stop either Rue or Fakir from coming when that happened, but I didn't want them here tonight and I needed someone to actually get close to the place. I could have wished for half a dozen soldiers or huntsmen, but we aren't just dealing with a fortress. Both of them have much the same experience with magic as I do. If they don't get hurt in the woods they have as good a chance as anyone of solving this problem, myself included."

Karl committed himself to watch for the next hour or so while the Prince moved about, staying awake. When he glanced behind himself, he was startled to see the Prince stretching. _No one ought to be that limber,_ he thought. _If they can all do that, maybe those other two will survive after all, and not drop of exhaustion after climbing out of the valley._

Then he saw a flash of light, and called the Prince over. There was something there, a dim glow. The Prince took out the spyglass.

He could see the bird, a faint red glow where he knew the castle tower to be, but it was still to dark for detail.

"Be ready–"

_For what?_ thought Karl; but then, climbing onto the road, flowed a darkness, and as it approached Karl Schmidt backed away, grabbing the hatchet on his belt.

The darkness sprouted eyes, shining in the flickering firelight like cat's eyes, many pairs of them. Karl was frozen in place, Stefan's night terrors no longer a mystery. He backed toward the fire, the Prince with him. Suddenly the Prince darted at the closest shadow, lunging with the swan- hilted sword. Nothing in particular happened; the shadows flowed around it and up to his hand, and stopped. Then the Prince drew back and swept the sword around. No effect.

"We can't hurt them, I think," he told Karl. "But I think we'd be dead by now if they could... Karl! _Karl Schmidt! Look at me!_ They aren't hurting us!"

His words finally got through. Karl did not relax, but he was no longer rigid with terror. The Prince's sword was in his hand but he was not using it.

Instinctively they held their backs to the fire. Shadows were just beyond the wide circle of firelight, slinking and prowling. The shadows could only approach by way of their own shade, stretching out in front....

The Prince crouched, pulling Karl down with him, diminishing their shadows. Left- handed he reached behind him, working loose a branch and holding it out in front of them, flaming end down. The fire kept hold, burning upwards. It wasn't bright enough to drive the shapes away, but it held them at bay.

Karl let out his breath, relieved. His axe switched hands and he pulled out a brand as well, holding it by the Prince's so that both burned more brightly.

The shadows had retreated, but they had consolidated into one, a huge one, trying to stare them down. By this time Karl did not much care about them. Dawn could not be far off, and if the shadows could do nothing against fire, they must surely vanish with the sunrise. Even if the thing in front of them was growing....

The Prince's torch was shaking so hard it tapped Karl's. The smith looked at him. There was no fear in his face, but rather a wild rage as he looked at the shadow before them. It had grown tall indeed, looming far above them, spreading wide wings like a raven's, two mad eyes glowing deep red....

The Prince stood, roaring a challenge. "We killed you once! Try me again if you will!"

"No! It's not real!" Karl shouted at him. "Don't–"

But whatever had possessed the Prince was beyond Karl's words. The Prince's face had changed, hatred hardening it. He sprang, and Karl nearly missed him, managing to grab him by the belt.

"Let me go! That thing–"

"It isn't real! No more than the others! So help me, I'll sit on you if I have to! _Settle down_!"

The Prince did, his frenzied expression slowly relaxing. Shamed, he lowered his eyes.

"Don't look at it if it maddens you so," said the smith. "It would have led you over the edge of the road. Here," he said, "Build up another fire, in front of us. Look at the sky. It's less than an hour till sunrise, we've enough wood within reach...."

Just then a blast of air drove back the flames, as a golden glow dispersed the shadows. Where the shadow bird had been, now one of Light stood, mantled, wings spread, singing.

"That– that– are you– you steal people! You–" He could not continue. The original of the decoration he had made for that box, so long ago, was before him; and his image had not prepared him for the real thing.

The bird looked straight at Karl, still singing. The smith looked at her, mouth gaping, then he sat down hard, as if his legs couldn't hold him up. The bird turned her attention to Mytho.

_"You are Duck's Prince."_ It was a statement, not a question. _"Your mate and your friend are in the castle, safe and secret for the moment. Listen carefully, there is no time. Your Duck was caught and is now turned to stone, hiding the sorcerer's heart. He must not try to take it back without lifting his curse, or he will simply break her open to get it._

_ "I have until sunrise, if that long. Then I will die and my strength will be removed from the sorcerer's curses. Your writer-friend has been charged with removing Kastchei's spell. Kastchei must be kept from resisting this, and from harming Duck. I am to take you to Kastchei. Are you prepared to do this, to delay and distract him rather than fight?"_

"I can do that," said the Prince. "Will this free all his prisoners?"

_"All, except the servants,"_ said the Firebird. _"They can be dealt with later, they are in no danger. But now we must hurry. Whatever will happen, will happen soon. You, Prince's man–" _she addressed Karl–_ "If you would help your people whom I have taken, go, bring help. Come by the castle road, but no further than the rock from which the castle can be seen. Wait there for word. If there is none, prepare to fight a sorcerer, but he will be without my help then."_

"I think the plans have been made," said the Prince to Karl. "Keep the fire bright until you can see, then start for the inn. If everything goes well I'll see you later today or tomorrow. If not– well, your people will have their own chance.

"Now," said the Prince to the Firebird, adjusting his cloak. "Shall we be off?"

Karl watched as the Prince was lifted by his arms, the bird flapping heavily, becoming a bright spot of fire in the pre- dawn shade. It was that business with the Mayor all over again, he thought. He wouldn't have gone if he'd thought she would harm him.

The spyglass was on the ground. Karl picked it up and saw the bird again, coming to roost on the top of the tower. For lack of anything better to do he watched, until the sky should lighten enough for him to leave.

* * *

The Firebird sang as she flew. Mytho felt it through her claws, wrapped around his arms. It was not quite soothing; there was thought behind it, as well as feeling, but he felt as if he could do all he had to now....

_"I have no time to sing to you as I did your companions,"_ said the Firebird. _"You also have the scent of raven's blood, but like your mate you have sealed it away where it cannot rule you."_

"I failed to keep it there, just before you came. I let my rage against it take hold of me. If Karl hadn't been there...."

_"Remember that,"_ she said, _"and remember the shame, and it will help you govern yourself. It was not the raven's blood which moved you, but your heart which you have set against it. It is powerful magic you have. You will need it now."_ She was circling above the castle now.

* * *

"They're coming," whispered Fakir. Rue nodded, looking up, watching. Then the Firebird, her light subdued, was dropping down, the figure of Prince Siegfried in her claws.

A stifled gasp made him look at Rue. Her head was bowed, her hand over her mouth, and she was shaking. He touched her arm, puzzled.

She pulled her hand away long enough to whisper, barely understandable: "Look at him...."

Fakir did, and at first saw nothing unusual. Then, as the Firebird came lower, he noticed that under his cloak the Prince wore hose, and above it a doublet. He realized that Rue had been laughing, not crying. The idiot! What was he doing in a costume? He had to have had that in his saddlebags for the entire trip!

"Now watch him pull this off," whispered Rue, nearly controlling herself.

* * *

Notes: One of the things that I noticed in the anime was that every sword has a loose hilt ("ka- clink") and not enough of a pommel to provide a counterweight. They look, in fact, like a sword my father had that had come from a defunct music school. It had a clunky wooden crossguard painted gold, and a decorative nut for a pommel, hardly sufficient to hold things together. The balance was like a baseball bat's. (It's all better now.)

Program Notes: The major addition is the use of the Infernal Dance from Stravinsky's _The Firebird_ (1919 suite) for Kaschei's shadows attacking the Prince. The composers mentioned as the Prince waits out the night are all included in the anime.

* * *

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	7. Chapter 7

Notes, Program Notes, and Disclaimer at end.

See the beginning of Akt 6 for a Statement of Appreciation. Of course, if you've come this far and are _still_ at it... I hope it's what you want! Thank you for reading, especially those who have reviewed!

* * *

AKT. 7 Metamorphoses

The Firebird backwinged, hovering for a split second as the Prince dropped lightly onto the lower terrace. The Firebird had put him down where he could see them without raising Kastchei's suspicions. Fakir nodded at him, and Mytho moved his eyes to Rue, a crooked smile flickering for an instant before he turned to walk up to the statue- filled courtyard, ready to face Kastchei.

Fakir had almost risked a look when firelight sprang up, the upper terrace came alive with jittery shadows, and a loud voice tried to declaim:

"Who challenges Kastchei the Immortal, lord over death?" The voice now boomed impressively, audible throughout the castle. The effect was spoiled a little by a snort of laughter.

"My name's Siegfried," replied the Prince in as conversational a tone as he could manage, having to project his voice so far. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but I'd like to come up and talk to you, if you don't mind. You see, I know what you've done. I know the magic you've done, and what it's cost you."

_Kastchei's first mistake today,_ thought Fakir, _letting Mytho start talking._ It sounded as if Kastchei had stayed on the tower. He risked a glance. The Prince's gaze was indeed focused upward. He signaled to Rue; they might be better off closer to the tower door now, if they could still hear what went on. It only took a few moments to navigate the Hall and ascend the servant's stairs.

"I did it myself once. I shattered my heart to pieces, though for a good reason. I don't know how long I wandered in rags, not remembering even to eat unless strangers fed me, until someone took me in and took care of me. For more than ten years I stayed with them, until my heart was restored to me.

"But there's a difference between us, you see. The magic is forbidden. If you learned how to do it, you learned that as well. It was forbidden to me also, and I paid dearly for it, but unlike you I have the ability to make it work without taking other hearts."

"What of that? Tell me more. How did you do it? What is this skill?" Kastchei sounded eager, almost childish. "How else can it be done?"

"There's a price for my knowledge," said the Prince. "All these statues. You were trying to make them immortal too, weren't you? But like us, they know that immortality isn't really worth the price, is it? I gave up my feelings when I pierced my heart, and much of my intelligence went with it. My price for my knowledge is that you free them, all of them. They do you no good here, and they are missed elsewhere. Do you remember how to do that?"

For a long moment there was silence. Then Kastchei's voice thundered: "I think I can do that if I get my heart, but that will take only a few moments. I do hope you have something that I can use. Wait there."

_Wrong question!_ Mytho felt his heart stop, and then he was sprinting for the door. He leapt up the stairs, ran through the blackness of the doorway, felt hands grab him and pull him onto the inside staircase. "Up here!"

They were interrupted by an angry hiss. Kastchei's irritated voice echoed down the stairs. "What are you going on about? That pet duck of yours again? It's served its purpose. Let me by!"

_"NO!"_

"Stay here!" the Prince shouted, pushing past. "There won't be room!"

"Idiot! We're not staying–"

But he was gone already. Angry voices came down over the sound of his running steps, Kastchei's and the Firebird's. Fakir, cursing the delay, started up the stairs, but Rue grabbed his arm.

"Fakir, look! Outside! You need to be at the well! You need to write!"

The sky through the arrow loop they were passing was already blue. Fakir let out another choice word. She was right... but Mytho and Duck were up there. He took the feather out of his vest. It gave no hint of anything inside he could write with. "But– Rue! Get back here!"

Prince Siegfried sprang through the open trapdoor sword- first, to a sight few humans would ever see. There was Kastchei, gaudy staff in hand, face to face with the Firebird. Her beak was pointed at him, her hackles raised and her wings spread to keep him from Duck. Overhead the high purple clouds were now underlit in pink and gold, but the Firebird was beginning to outshine the coming dawn with her anger.

_"YOU WILL NOT HARM HER!"_

"Do you know, I've just about had enough of you and your bullheaded temper," said Kastchei peevishly, his voice still magically amplified. "Part of the bargain was that you would obey me. I could swear I just heard voices, too. Did you let the servants out? Or have you let someone else in? What have you done? Have you betrayed me?"

"She brought me here," said the Prince, behind him. "Drop the staff. You won't hurt the duck. If you can curse without your heart, you should be able to remove the curse as well."

"I haven't been able to yet. You stay out of this, young fellow. This is between me and her," he said, pointing the staff at Mytho. "You'll stay out of my way unless you want to be stone as well. And just to make sure–"

The Prince saw a dark haze gathering around the sorcerer.

"Your shadows don't frighten me," he said, hoping his voice could be heard down the staircase.

"They're not for you," said Kastchei, nearly obscured. Then they swept past the Prince, down into the stairwell. There was a startled cry, unmistakably Rue. Mytho shouted her name once, and again. There was another yell, Fakir's, this one angry rather than frightened, and coming from the courtyard.

The Firebird hissed again. For some reason that seemed to be the last straw.

"How many others are here? Get out of my way, you ungrateful hen! _Traitor_!"

He swung the staff, striking the Firebird; she grabbed for it, closing her beak on it and shaking her head. The staff snapped and Kastchei was flung against the crumbling battlement. The Prince staggered, disoriented, feeling for a moment as if he were filled with jelly. It passed almost immediately.

The Firebird screamed. A dark, dull patch marred the glowing plumage on her neck where she had been struck. She raised her wings and the Prince threw himself flat. He covered his head as she blundered forward, trying to launch, flailing blindly. He felt blasts of air and a claw plucked the cloth across his arm and back. Then it was still atop the tower. Mytho climbed to his feet. He was alone with Duck. Where was Kastchei?

He heard agonized voices below, Fakir and then Rue, and the Firebird. She had lumbered over the parapet and barely managed to soften her landing in the muddy yard. As he watched they helped her right herself. She crouched, wings half spread, swaying, breathing heavily.

A patch of black caught his eye. Kastchei had fallen onto the hall roof, not quite half the height of the tower. He did not move.

He went to Duck. No harm done to the statue, but it had been a close thing, too close.

"We're here, Duck. We'll be back for you."

Then he ran for the stairs.

* * *

Fakir reached the Firebird first. She was white- gold in places, dim red in others, and the light and heat played across her body. There was a mark on her neck where Kastchei had struck. To his horror, Fakir saw that the feathers were stone. Then Rue was there and they were able to raise her to her feet. She was breathing hard and seemed unable to see them clearly.

"_Writer! Listen to me!_" she rasped._ "My time is come. The Sun is almost here. I know what I must do now, but you alone can finish this! As I am consumed you must write me back to life, and Duck and the others with me. Then you may do as you will with the heart, for Kastchei will be weak and mortal. He will pay dearly for it, whether or not you let him live. Look to your quill!_

_ "I go to greet the Sun. Spin your tale _now!"

Fakir pulled the feather out of his vest again. It was bright gold, as bright as it had been that morning over a week ago. They sprinted toward Mytho as the Firebird jumped and beat her wings, rising awkwardly, starting to glow brighter than they had yet seen her.

"Kastchei's out, or worse–" started the Prince as they came up.

"You heard her! Look after Duck!" Fakir shouted through tears as he grabbed the swan-sword from the Prince and, with a few swipes of the quill across the edge, cut the bottom off and shaped it into the crude nib of a pen. Then he ran to the fountain and the polished rock wall that surrounded it.

The Firebird was singing, high up on the peak lit now by her brilliance. Even as he watched she reached the top, and the first rays of the sun touched the summit. Her song reached its crescendo–

"_The Firebird, uncertain and afraid for so long, did not find her fate painful, as she had feared_–" He could do that for her, at least. He couldn't look. Whatever was happening up there was all but casting shadows here. The feather in his hand was so bright that he could barely see what he was writing, but he doubted that it really mattered. The hot light inside was draining steadily out of the quill, burning itself into the smooth stone. The heat was unbearable, but there was no time for a glove, and somehow he knew it would not work quite right unless his hand touched the feather. "_As_ _she was consumed, to be reborn within moments, the curse of immortality in stone was lifted from every frozen victim._

_ "But Kastchei's heart was meant to revive its owner, and both enchantments at once were too much for one body–_" how had it gone? _"–The conflicting magics could only resolve themselves when the heart found that Duck's body remembered how to change, not only from stone to living flesh, but from duck to human girl. The heart expended itself, and her transformation was complete before she awoke, whole, sound, and healthy."_ No point in making assumptions. Should he say anything else about her, perhaps that she danced? No time now. _"The rest of the captives likewise awoke, naturally confused for a brief time but without suffering any other ill effects from their imprisonment."_

The fire in the quill was drained. Fakir plunged the hand into the fountain; the water was cold and the pain was soothed somewhat. He looked up; nothing was to be seen on the mountain summit but a faint haze of smoke, and the sunlight creeping down in the now- still dawn. There was no sign of movement save for Mytho and Rue above. He looked at the stone and read his story. Not polished, not really very good. Had it worked?

Slowly, exhausted, Fakir stood and wandered dully around the courtyard. Nothing was happening. Nothing had changed. He had failed. The Firebird had been wrong, about the magic, about himself. He didn't dare go up to look at Duck.

The sun rose over the wall, and the light stung his eyes. It touched the statues. He didn't see at first that where it touched, the stone was changing, and the change outstripped the spread of the light. Hair, skin, and clothing; all regained their life and color before his eyes. Everywhere the sunlight reached people were awakening, dazed.

Fakir ran for the tower steps and climbed them three at a time. Duck was still in the shade of the battlement, but it was only a matter of seconds; the Prince had his arm around Rue, and both looked at him with sad faces. Fakir pushed past them.

The light reached Duck's raised head. Fakir held his breath as the stone crest began to gleam white, then red, and tumbled loosely to her head; the form of the duck gave way to that of a crouching girl even as the stone retreated. Fakir fell to his knees and caught her as she toppled from the bench, and the Prince took off his cloak, wrapping it around Duck. She choked and gagged, coughing until she spat something out. It shattered on the stones. Fakir held her, kneeling with her, seeing the Prince and Princess do the same. Finally she raised her head.

"Fakir–" she whispered, then looked past him, toward the eastern sky. "Listen!"

They all listened, and then looked. High above, out of the east, a speck grew larger. It resolved into a red and gold bird, banking in to circle a point on the mountain summit. Then it glided downward, soaring over the castle, singing joyfully.

_So the Phoenix was reborn,_ thought Fakir. _She has someone of her own now, and won't be so alone in the world as she grows up again._

Neither would Duck. Duck was looking from one face to the next now, her smile finally twisting her face into tears. Alarmed, he felt her body go rigid as she gasped and sobbed.

"Let her sit for a while," suggested Rue. "It ought to be quiet here. We'll have to take care of these others, I think–" for indeed people were beginning to drift around the courtyard, and sounds of talk and cheer were growing.

"Wait," said Fakir. "Kastchei's heart. The Firebird said that Duck was hiding it–"

"Here, I think," said the Prince, holding out a handful of red- brown crystal chips and splinters.

"It should have no power left now, it should have all been used up on Duck. Where is Kastchei?"

"Down there," said the Prince, grim- faced. "But I'll take care of that; you care for Duck now."

Fakir did so. The bench was placed to catch the morning sun, and she was able to sit. Duck's sobs were finally subsiding, and stopped all at once. She began to breathe deeply and relax.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice hoarse. "I couldn't breathe. Is it all over?"

"We're not sure yet, but I think so," said Fakir. "I'm sorry, Duck. The Firebird said that the only way to defeat Kastchei was to drain the power in his heart, and have it change you before it killed you. I never had a chance to ask what you wanted."

"That's okay," said Duck. "She said something might happen to me, just after I got caught. Kastchei stuffed the heart down my throat and hit me with a stick, and then I remember– I– I'm just glad I'm still alive. It really is all right, Fakir. Flying isn't as good as being able to talk to you."

"You're sure?"

"Really sure," she said. "I didn't want to die. Fakir–"

She reached up, pulling him closer. The next few moments were complicated a little by the fact that she had never kissed anyone before.

"Fakir, I'm sorry, but I have to know," she said, her eyes beginning to swim again. She took a deep breath.

"_QUAAACK!_"

She hunched over with the effort, eyes tightly shut. After a moment she opened them, looking down at her hands, and began laughing quietly.

Fakir understood, and breathed his own sigh of relief. Whatever she would be, it would be terrible to go back to switching from one form to the other, but this time never knowing which change might be the final one. He took her hand that was outside the cloak, and realized that he had dropped the Firebird's quill. Duck saw it before he did, lying by the trapdoor.

"I guess I don't have to take care of her now."

"What?"

"I promised. She was terrified," said Duck softly. "Of pain when she– went, of being alone, but she was too proud to admit it. The only thing I could do was promise to try to find her and care for her when she hatched. I hoped you'd understand if I had to stay here for awhile."

"Oh, yes. She said. Well, as long as Kastchei wasn't around, I'd have stayed with you. How we'd have smuggled her out under his nose, I don't know, but we'd have tried." He felt Duck smile, then draw a sharp breath.

"Fakir– your hand!"

"Oh. Yes."

"You're hurt! Shouldn't we–"

"No, we shouldn't. I soaked it in the fountain. It won't get any worse. It's all right, Duck. It's been a long night. Can we just sit for a little while?"

"Yes, of course. But then– I don't think I can walk off this mountain without some clothes...." She shut her eyes and sagged heavily against him, asleep.

* * *

Notes: When I began to look up a few things for this story, I found the story of Koschei as presented in _The Golden Bough_ to be illuminating. There is indeed a duck involved in hiding Koschei's heart. Minor revisions to this chapter included a fuller description of the progress of a sunrise.

Program Notes: The concept for this story was actually built around the Finale of Stravinsky's _The Firebird _(1919 suite.) I prefer a conductor that takes it at a slower, stately pace; some I've heard seem to be rushed. (There is a recording of Stravinsky conducting this work, which should be definitive, but I don't have it, and don't recall ever hearing it. Yet. I still like it slower, not being well- educated musically. In any case, the more time given for the action, the better.) In any case, it starts as Fakir wanders among the statues; about the third repetition of the theme he runs to the top of the tower; as the last transformation is complete, the music pauses and the strings begin softly ("Listen!) and the newcomer is identified as the theme begins again as a fanfare. Whether to include the closing itself is left to the reader.

The 1910 _Firebird_ suite has "Kastchei Awakens" and "The Death of Kastchei", both of which have possibilities for the Kastchei's confrontation with the Prince and the Firebird.

* * *

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	8. Chapter 8

Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck

Akt 8: Conversations

* * *

Program Notes and Disclaimer at end.

I appreciate anyone who has read this far, I really do. Although most of the action is done and any buckles have been well and truly swashed, the characters still have a fair bit of sorting out to do.

* * *

Duck awoke, not on the bench in the sun, but in a bed, and a more or less clean one. It was light outside, but whether morning or afternoon she couldn't tell; the sky was white and overcast now. She sat up. She was wearing a too- large shirt.

She felt rested, although her throat still felt raw. There was someone dozing in a chair beside the bed.

"Rue?"

Rue's eyes opened, and she smiled at Duck. "Hello. How do you feel?"

"Better," said Duck. "I was only really tired, I think, but my throat hurts."

"This will help a little." Rue poured her a cup of water. She talked as Duck drank. "Kastchei is dead. Mytho was a little disappointed, he wanted to put him on trial, but no one else minded a bit."

"He hurt an awful lot of people."

"He did. Mytho's glad, though, that he didn't actually kill him."

"Is everyone else okay?"

"Yes. Fakir's hand is blistered and sore, and we all have some cuts and bruises; but all the others are all right, even if they're tired. Fakir thought it might be something about transforming. He says that changing into Princess Tutu always left you exhausted, and maybe it's the same for these people."

"And the Firebird? The other one came to get her. Did– did she hurt much? Are they still there?" Duck asked softly.

"No, I don't think she hurt, not at the end," said Rue. "Before we leave here you can read what Fakir wrote for her. It had to happen, Duck. A phoenix can't do anything else. You can see the other one on the peak. I think it might stay until she can fly. She said you promised to stay with her if none of her own kind came."

"Yes, I did."

"I'm not surprised," said Rue. "All things considered, though, it was very generous of you.... Fakir said that you didn't mind being a human again. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes," said Duck. "I did it before. Like I told Fakir, I didn't want to die. I imagine the worst problem will be proving I'm me, with no family around. There's no Drosselmeyer this time to do all that for me."

"I think we can help there. Duck, about Fakir... you might need to be a little careful. There's nothing to worry about, but just remember to take things a little slowly, would you? Do you realize you've grown? Last year you looked about thirteen. You look around fourteen or fifteen now, and I think you're nearly as tall as I am."

"What?"

"Yes. Fakir got a good look at you and I think he's a little stunned. Duck, you're really starting to look like Princess Tutu. Mytho said so too."

"That might be because... anyway... Was she pretty?"

"Umm... you never saw yourself when you were Tutu?"

"No, not really. I saw my reflection once or twice, but it was never important to really look. I just knew the costume was pretty, and that she danced perfectly."

Rue sighed. "To put it bluntly, she was beautiful. So are you, now. Just give yourself time to grow up. Both Mytho and Fakir are likely to forget, now and again, that you aren't exactly like Princess Tutu as they knew her."

"Once Fakir knew, he ended up calling me Duck anyway, even when I was Tutu."

"That's good to know."

"Um. What time is it? What do we do now?"

"It's still morning. Mytho and Fakir are helping to sort things out here. I don't think any of the, um, former statues are going anywhere yet."

"It wouldn't surprise me," said Duck, pausing to drink a little, both hands around the cup. She shuddered. "It was like shutting your eyes underwater and still being able to hear a little, but not able to breathe. I could never stop listening and I couldn't sleep. There are people who must have been here for years like that. I was so glad when I heard you and Fakir and Mytho, and the Firebird. And–" She paused, then went on, a little unsteadily. "I think, Rue, I know a little now about how you and Mytho felt– you know– with raven's blood. I could feel his heart in me, always trying to find out if I could be hurt, and what it could do to me, and I couldn't get away. It couldn't really do anything while I was a stone, I guess, but for a long time I didn't know that. Kastchei was like that too. It was nothing like Mytho's heart."

She only realized she was crying when Rue sat beside her on the bed and gave her a handkerchief.

"I wish you hadn't had to find that out," sighed Rue. "The Firebird gave me something that will help control it, but... it's still with us. I think it always will be there, underneath."

"I don't think it will take over again, though. You both know better, right? I'm sorry," Duck said eventually. "The first time in ages I can talk, and I keep crying."

"You've had a rough time," said Rue. "But it's over now. Do you want to sleep a little longer? One of us will stay with you, you know, until you're ready to be by yourself."

"Not yet. Tell me– where did you go when you left? What was it like, outside of town?"

"It's a little hard to explain," said Rue. "But I think when Fakir said the Prince could live as he wanted, Mytho managed to take advantage of it. We went into the story, to– a place– where we could both _be_ for a while. There was music, and we could dance, or read, or explore, or ride, or anything else we wanted. We'll go back now and again, but he wants to do all he can for Goldkrone and the Academy, and we want to see more of the world.

"Anyway, we left after a few months, before we could get restless. We ended up following the Danube and arrived in Vienna just before Christmas. And, oh, Duck, you'll have to see it someday...."

Duck was content to listen. Rue's eyes shone, describing a world that Duck could hardly imagine after a brief life in Goldkrone. At some point it occurred to her that, despite being married, Rue might still be a little lonely.

"Did you meet a lot of people?" asked Duck when Rue grew quiet.

"Yes, I did," she said. "But– and please don't misunderstand– I still haven't been able to make friends easily. There are a few, and I enjoy their company, but only you and Mytho and Fakir really know me, the bad with the good. And no one else could believe what I've been."

"And I was a duck," said Duck. "But it's been the same for me. Last year there were Pique and Lillie, and they were fun to be around, but I couldn't tell them anything important. And even now, Fakir's a guy. There'll be a lot he won't tell me, probably, that he'd tell Mytho."

"Exactly."

Duck giggled. "And a lot we'll never tell them? I'm glad, Rue. Fakir's been the only one I could talk with all year. No one else even believed I could, not even Charon. It got to be really hard, thinking like a girl and being a duck. I've been wondering what I really am all year, and I think maybe my real self has something to do with what I want to be instead of just whatever shape I was born. But now– I'm happier than I've been since you both left. Maybe I can start ballet again."

"If you want to try, Mytho and I will sponsor you to the Academy. You can stay with us between terms. I'm afraid you shouldn't really live with Fakir and Charon any more."

Duck sighed. "I suppose not... Thank you so much, Rue. I might miss flying a little now, but I've missed dancing so much. Is there, um, anything more I can wear? I need a bathroom. And I ought to stretch."

* * *

Prince Siegfried spent that morning helping the old Baron's daughters, Mathilde and Inga, and Prince Ivan to organize Kastchei's captives and servants. They were even now exploring the castle, cataloguing Kastchei's loot and scrounging food. There were sleeping bodies on benches in the Hall, sitting in the sun in the courtyard, anywhere at all that might be remotely comfortable.

Baroness Mathilde sent messages to the village, commandeering a few of Kastchei's servants whom she recognized and who couldn't seem to quit the place fast enough; in addition, several of the petrified victims had not wanted to linger.

"The Jaeger cousins will do as I ask, and they can run fast and far," she said placidly afterward. "As for the others, it may have been wasted breath and they will not stop running. But there should be carts to meet us by tomorrow and the village should be prepared."

Duck awoke from a brief nap to hear voices, and many footsteps tramping up and down the stairs through the half- open door, and feet stomping overhead. Rue, true to her word, was going out only as Fakir came in with a tray. Duck sat up to share hard, dry rolls and cheese and a large crock of tea with Fakir, whose hand was now bandaged. She was finding it easier to talk about what had happened, but wanted to hear what had happened to the others. Fakir filled in the story of their journey and the confrontation on the tower, and the Firebird's last moments. Duck did feel like crying again then, a little, but knowing that she was hatched now and wouldn't remember any pain helped.

_Well,_ she thought, _Pique always said I bounced back fast._

But....

"Fakir, what's wrong?" It wasn't that he had ever been good at displaying pleasure; still, he was depressed about something. She persisted, gently, quite ready to leave it alone if he balked; and he knew he'd have to answer.

"I've been pretty useless," he admitted at last. "I nearly dislocated Rue's shoulder at one point, and had nothing to give to this whole effort until the end, except for the nights I could write for you. I couldn't even keep that feather away from you."

"It wasn't going to let you or anybody else stop it," replied Duck. "Take it from me. It would have found a chance, and we were going to come here anyway. And Rue doesn't blame you for anything. From what _I_ hear there's about a dozen people downstairs who'd think that it was everyone's job to get _you_ here to do what you did. You did okay, whether you want to believe it or not. Now be happy."

That did make him snort. "Bossy."

"I'm going to miss living with you, you know," she continued.

_Now that would sound highly improper coming from anyone else,_ thought Fakir. "I'll miss having you underfoot, too. Why did you leave? We knew you'd molt sometime. You had me scared...." He stopped himself. It was all past, and she didn't need to feel bad about it now.

"I panicked, I think," she said. "I'm sorry, I really am. I just woke up one morning shedding feathers all over, and I felt like I needed to get to the water. But when I got there I was too tired to go back right away. I got into that dry place under the willow, but the longer I stayed the more I shed and the worse I felt. I thought I was really sick. I could hardly stand the water long enough to feed, and I couldn't fly, and the flock just kept waiting to attack. Molting isn't supposed to happen that way, it's supposed to be really gradual. I itched, of course, but I ached too, and I was way too sleepy half the time. I felt so dull, like it was getting hard to think. That's something I'd been afraid of," she admitted reluctantly. "I didn't want to stop being me, to stop thinking– and don't you say a word."

"Wasn't going to. That's scared me too."

"Anyway, I couldn't swim or fly, and I didn't even think I could walk far, and I didn't want you to see me like that– it might be silly, but it wasn't pretty, and I couldn't have escaped a dog or cat, much less one of the other ducks. Finally my new coat came in enough so I could get out and feed a little; that was a few days after you told me about that letter. Then Rue came along about the time I thought I was ready anyway, and scared the flock away long enough for me to get out. And that's about it."

Fakir nodded. She was right, there wasn't much more that could be added except his own remembered fears, which were pointless now. He changed the subject.

"Um, Duck–" He really had no idea how to approach last year's vow to her. Maybe it should wait a few days; he had no intention of breaking it, anyway. "So... why... did you kiss me?" _Where did that come from, and why was it so hard to ask?_

"Because I've wanted to, and ducks can't," she said, quite red- faced. _And,_ she added silently, _if true love's first kiss has any power to keep me from going back to being a duck again all the time, I couldn't have waited for him to think of it. It's not the sort of thing that shows up in his stories. _

"Umm... so as long as we're already embarrassed...." he started. She nearly choked on her tea, but she was laughing, and then he did too. _How can we be so shy? We've been around each other constantly for a year! Ridiculous._ "Anyway. It's probably not the right time to bring it up, but... that first story I wrote for you, when you were Tutu, that one I didn't let you read...."

"It had a lot about how I– or we– felt, didn't it? About Mytho?"

"Yeah."

He was grateful that Duck understood what he couldn't seem to ask outright. "I'll have to straighten this out with him, too, I think. I still love him, of course, like you do, but it's nothing like– how I felt last summer. Most of what I felt when I was Tutu, the part that made it hurt, that all went away when I gave back the heart shard. She– we– couldn't help it, you know, she was part of him and needed to go back inside him like the other shards. Drosselmeyer was right; she did turn into a speck of light and vanish– just like the others did when we returned them. I never quite worked out what feeling Tutu was, but it has a lot to do with loving himself, and wanting to be whole, and– well, I guess we could call it Hope. She was a lot more complicated than the others, I think, maybe because she had her work to do. Since the shard's been gone, though, I've just been happy to see him smile, and glad that he isn't lonely anymore."

She realized that they had put her in the master bedroom of the old tower when Fakir left her for long enough to get ready for dinner. She wondered why there should be an unstrung crossbow propped in the corner, until she saw that there were a few packs and two familiar swords as well, and for some reason a pair of hose and a costume doublet folded on top. More to the point, there was a tarnished hand-mirror and chipped washbasin and ewer, and someone had left her a comb and a balding brush; apparently personal grooming had not been one of Kastchei's priorities. Rue had been right. Duck felt fine, but different than she had a year ago, and if she thought too much about it she would only confuse herself. She realized as she combed her hair that the untameable lock atop her head was gone, growing with the rest of her hair at last. Certainly without it she looked neater than she had ever been. She braided her hair out of habit, then left for dinner and found Fakir waiting outside her door, offering her his arm for the narrow, uneven stairs.

When they descended to the first floor, it looked like a small jumble- sale. Clothing and jewelry, antique arms, furniture, books, rugs and hangings and furs and artwork; some smaller items were being apportioned by Prince Ivan and the new Baroness to each victim, more was tossed out into the courtyard as unsalvageable. Duck was startled to find that she and Fakir were being given a heroes' welcome, and presented with gifts.

Once in the Great Hall Mytho introduced Duck to the former prisoners and servants, as well as Karl Schmidt and two of the other guides who had arrived that day. Several of Kastchei's servants were no older than she appeared to be; after the formalities, she and Fakir drifted over to join them in the corner they'd staked out, a little uncomfortable in adult society, until dinner was served.

".... And it made me fly here, faster than they could follow."

"Fly? How?" asked a skeptical boy.

"Weeelllll... to tell the truth, I was a duck."

"A duck? Because that was your name, or what?"

"Something like that."

"You're a _were- duck_?"

_Oh dear,_ she thought. _I'll never live that one down. Fakir is trying so hard but he's going to _laugh_...._

Stories of her kidnapping that had led to Kastchei's death had been circulating all day, as had the tale of Prince Ivan and the pursuit of Kaschei, and after supper they were all called upon to tell it to the company themselves. They had warned Duck that it might happen, and to downplay Fakir's role, in light of Drosselmeyer's fate. She had never addressed so many people before, at least not in speech; but in the event they had all pulled benches and stools around the hearth and just talked, which was reassuring. She was able to leave most of it to the others anyway, since she was still hoarse. The dry mountain air didn't help. But there was drink for that, and food, and others of the company telling their own tales, exciting and terrifying by turns.

* * *

Before they left the next morning Duck read the lines burned into the rock, and looked up at the cloudy peak where no sign betrayed the presence of the Phoenix and its foster- parent this morning. Then the long, straggling line of freed captives left, the Prince and Karl Schmidt leading, a watchful Prince Ivan bringing up the rear with Fakir's borrowed sword in hand. But as the procession wound down through the forest, the new firebird glided over and across their path, singing, and circled high above for hours.

Whereupon Duck felt that the valley, with its slowly changing panorama as they wound toward the main road and the village, was the loveliest place she had ever been.

* * *

Program Notes: I had nothing specific in mind for this chapter at all. Storytelling by the fire might use Beethoven's Symphony no. 7 in A-major, second movement. The softer, more melancholy passages were suggested already for the castle itself, but there's plenty of scope for scoring a tale-spinning session. His Symphony no. 5 in C-minor, fourth movement (third and fourth together, actually) might suffice for the walk back to civilization, at least to set the mood.

* * *

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	9. Chapter 9

Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck

Akt 9: The Nature of a Duck

* * *

Notes, Program Notes, and Disclaimer at end.

My sincere thanks to all who have read this far. Feel free to leave reviews (which, I admit, is a thing I fall very far behind on.)

* * *

A few days later the place was still full. The reception in the village had been emotional, of course, from Stefan hobbling out with his canes, to the family of the Braun boy taken a month ago, to the respect paid to the Baron's daughters now in mourning for their father.

The morning after their arrival was busy. The four of them joined Baroness Mathilde to complete a formality they'd discussed the day before, on the long walk down the mountain. They met with several local lights– the pastor, the _new _mayor and especially the town clerk and a lawyer. In a few hours Duck had a name, a favor called in on her behalf by the Prince. Clara Marie Schwann, as far as the world would concern itself with her, had been a foundling rescued from Kastchei, the Prince and Princess were now her guardians, and the church had a record of her christening for that very day. Duck had thought Drosselmeyer's godchild from the _Nutcracker_ an appropriate choice. She hadn't been as concerned about the last name; she'd thought Vogel, perhaps, but the Prince had suggested Schwann, and she'd happily allowed herself to be outvoted. A little thought produced a birthday, as well; the anniversary of her first day at the Academy last spring.

For the afternoon all four of them had been invited to the house where Prince Ivan was lodging with Stefan, and had talked into the evening. Stefan was not quite the half- idiot he had played since Ivan's abduction, although he would never recover entirely from his injuries; as it turned out, he had been a constable and investigator for Ivan and his father. He understood the language far better than he had let on for all that time, though he yet spoke little. They heard the entire tale then, of the charlatan who had called himself a name out of legend, who had bilked the treasury for years, killed three people, and escaped from prison, somehow spiriting away his gains and fleeing the country. Mytho spoke up then: Kastchei may have been criminal, but his magic had been real. He had not only gained the wealth, power, and immortality he sought, and unknowingly lost the ability to use or appreciate any of it; he had been thieving from the village since his arrival.

"It's a simple sort of magic known the world over. All he had to do was get food here once, from any place he wanted, and save a little of it. When he wanted more he could use his scraps to call more up from the bakery or dairy or wherever the leavings had come from, and save some of the new, and so on. He may have known how to increase what he stole. In the same way, he may have loaded himself down with money and treasure when he escaped, but all he needed was a single piece from each place he'd cached his loot, and he could conjure the rest. He could do that with no more than some coins in a wallet."

And so they had had to tell their own tales of Goldkrone, and the Academy, and how they had become so well acquainted with magic. Prince Ivan had smiled at Duck's new name, and had steered the conversation into ballet and Tchaikovsky, whom he had met as a younger man.

As the harvest was now in, one evening the square had been cleared for dancing. The company had wanted the Prince and Princess begin the festivities, which they had done in proper style; at the end of that first dance Duck had been surprised to find the Prince bowing to her–

"Not all dance needs practice every day," he said, smiling, and led her out into the square. Beside them Rue laughed and pulled Fakir out into the growing crowd.

She had once dreamed of dancing a _pas de deux_ with the Prince, as herself, and this wasn't it; but, she thought, this might be better. They were friends. She could enjoy this, and she did, without the distraction of Princess Tutu's feelings. After that Duck danced through much of the evening, with many of the men with whom they had walked into the village two days before, from grizzled and courtly Prince Ivan to the youngest Braun boy who had first called her a were- duck. It had been fun in a way ballet class seldom was, and the attentions given her had been flattering. The steps she didn't know already weren't hard, and she realized eventually that she had forgotten her clumsiness, and no one except her few old friends would even have missed it.

She'd been hoping for a little more time with Fakir, of course; but they were all on display tonight as part of the Prince's party, and their time was not entirely their own. As the crowd thinned later, though, there was at last the opportunity to enjoy an interminable Strauss waltz with Fakir, who afterward walked Duck back to the inn, arm in arm. Duck had washed and was ready for bed by the time Rue came in, happy and tired.

Down the hall Mytho had come in after Fakir, shutting the door behind him.

"Whatsch thisch? Isch it time for usch to have yet another clasch on love and ma- ma- Ma–"

"You weren't at the beer. I saw."

"No," said Mytho pleasantly. "We mostly stuck with the cider and the punch, same as you and Duck."

"Cider makes you come in afterwards talking like Mr. Cat. Does Rue know about this? Should I tell her, or will you?"

"She knows already. I must point out, however, that the question wasn't frivolous."

Fakir glowered at him. Mytho in high humor, teasing him clumsily about his personal affairs with a passable impersonation, was not at all familiar; but–

"All right," he growled. "You don't need to act like her big brother. My intentions are honorable and I'll be careful. If Duck really were as old as she looks we both would still be too young, but she's only a year and a half old. I'm not going to forget. I think Rue's already had the same talk with Duck, and it's a little hard to miss that she's being chaperoned. Are you satisfied?"

"Yes, I think that covers it," said Mytho, "except for when you will talk with her about it. That's your business. But as for being chaperoned, a place like this still expects it, and I know Rue's been a little lonely. Duck's the only girl she knows who really knows her too."

"I'm glad for them both. If Duck's going to survive she'll need that sort of help. Life, or at least Drosselmeyer, hasn't been very fair to her since this all started last year."

"No," said the Prince. "But I've got to remember what Rue said once about life being fair."

"What was that?" An image of Rue suggested itself to Fakir, the whining little girl so possessive of Mytho. _Hardly accurate any more,_ he chided himself_, at least not the whiny part._

"That if it was, she should have died," said Mytho soberly. "Sometimes, especially last year, the memories and the guilt really bothered her. So I won't begrudge her a week or so for looking after Duck. It will do them both good."

"All the same...." Fakir's voice drifted and he did not finish. Mytho didn't need to know just how much time he and Duck had spent together over the past year; most of each day and night, practically every day, until her molt.

"What?"

Fakir changed the subject.

"Something's been bothering me all year," he said abruptly. "I knew I shouldn't try to change Duck back into a human without knowing what I was doing, if ever. But I wonder... what would have happened if I hadn't said you could live as you liked? Is your real self a person, or a storybook character?"

"I wondered that myself," said the Prince. "I never found a good answer, except that I was written as a person and now I am one."

"You said once you'd take Rue and go back into the story. I was afraid that meant we'd never see you again. "

"That's as good a word as any for where we went," replied Mytho thoughtfully. "A story is where a character can become real, and a person can enter and become enchanted for a while, but nothing says it has to be set so far apart from real life, does it? It never ends. There's just the place where an audience might lose interest if they have to keep going.

"I thought, though, when we left Goldkrone, that we would be content there. But we can't be. We've been too much in the real world, and we need to be out in it, or we'll simply stagnate within the confines of the story. I could never do that to Rue, nor do I see any reason to do it to myself."

"I never was able to get an ending to _Prinz und Rabe_ right, so I haven't re-published it. Maybe I won't," said Fakir. "I don't want to mess with your lives the way Drosselmeyer did. There are other things to write about."

"Well... a simple 'and they lived happily ever after' can be a bit stultifying, but it works. Perhaps if you don't exactly end it," said the Prince. "The work should be finished, perhaps, but we've been content with how we've lived the past year."

Fakir fell silent. He considered Mytho's words, weighty thoughts for this time of night. '_And if you cross their paths, they might tell you what has happened since_,' he thought. _That might do._

At least no one was angry that he hadn't tried his gift on Duck all year, not even herself. He might always wonder whether he should have, but it was moot now. They might all be statues in that castle now if she'd been just the duck she'd looked like. And she wanted this. Somehow it tied in with what Mytho had just said but he was too tired to work it out now.

_Someday we'll have to talk about that,_ he thought as he drifted off to sleep. _I had to persuade her that going back to being a duck was what she should do, and she did it. It was just as heartrending as Drosselmeyer wanted, for everyone. Wherever he is I hope he chokes on all this. I'd have stayed with her no matter what, and I will as long as she'll have me, and it's been nice to be around her, even as a duck. But... I was selfish, and cowardly. I wanted to see her grow up, as a girl, the way she wanted, but I never dared let her know that. I never trusted either of us enough. _

_I wonder if I should tell her now. No, I don't wonder. She deserves the truth, even if I'll never put it into the right words._

_

* * *

_

_"Oh, the tragedy of wasted time! Do you want me to choke on that too?"_

Fakir knew then that he was dreaming. He had only heard that voice once before.

_"Get away from me. I don't want you here."_

The singsong voice continued as if he hadn't spoken_. "You assume so much! And now you dare assume that I don't belong here. But I _am_ you...."_

_"What am I assuming?"_

_"Never asking the right question, you ask it of _him_ though...."_

Fakir remembered it when he awoke, long before dawn; or at least remembered something in Drosselmeyer's voice about Fakir being him, and about asking the right question of Mytho but not about... what? Had it really been Drosselmeyer? Or himself? It was among his worst fears, becoming like his great- great- great grandfather. He realized he wouldn't get back to sleep, but he was too tired to garner his thoughts. What had he asked Mytho? What wasn't he asking?

Prince Siegfried roused to find his best friend sitting at the dark window, his blanket around his shoulders, idly twirling the Firebird's quill in his fingers. Barely looking up, Fakir simply stated, "I've been an idiot."

"Could you repeat that?"

"I've been an idiot. All this time. There was a question I knew I should ask, and I asked you last night, and I still didn't see. Rue said it two weeks ago, back in Goldkrone."

Mytho yawned prodigiously. "Perhaps if you could fill in a few details? I've just woken up in the middle of the night, you see. I think I may have missed something."

"I asked you last night whether you were a person or a character from a story. I know I'm not one of Drosselmeyer's characters, and neither is Rue; we were born in Goldkrone and had human parents. I've been assuming for over a year that Duck started life as a real duckling, hatched from an egg, even though everything, absolutely everything, points to her as being one of Drosselmeyer's characters."

There was a long silence.

"She doesn't appear in the story, as I do, or the Raven does," the Prince pointed out. "Or even Princess Tutu."

"No. Nonetheless, he could have created her, even from his grave. He captured Duck– Tutu, rather– and took her there, just before the end. One of the things she told me was about Drosselmeyer making her move, like a marionette. Like Miss Edel. He told her then that she was one of his characters. We always assumed he meant just Princess Tutu, but I can't be sure anymore.

"Then, she remembers nothing before seeing you; no mother, no family at all. There aren't any other ducks living in that little pond inside the town wall. She gets along with every kind of bird except other ducks– they know she isn't one of them. The Firebird saw that she's magic, the same sort of magic I have. Her body stayed a duckling's until she absolutely had to grow up, and every feeling and thought is a human's."

"I wouldn't go that far," said Mytho. "Nonetheless, you make a strong case."

"The most powerful argument, though, is the way I can write for her. 'Did write', perhaps; I haven't tried it since she changed. It doesn't happen for anyone else."

"It should have happened between us, then, shouldn't it?"

"I can't be sure," replied Fakir slowly. "Just then, when I found out about it, I hardly knew you at all anymore, either with a tainted heart or a whole one. No, it does fit. At first I thought I was writing Tutu-- but it was Duck too; when I called her away from Drosselmeyer, I called for Duck. By then I knew her pretty well. For whatever reason, I never could write a word about you until after the battle."

"Well, that might be neither here nor there," said the Prince thoughtfully. "The story itself might have been blocking me from you somehow, since Drosselmeyer was already writing it, but left a loophole of some sort in Duck. Drosselmeyer underestimated her in other ways too. I will, however, offer two thoughts. Firstly, there's no way to prove this, none at all. I wouldn't trust Drosselmeyer to tell me the truth, even if he could speak for himself, and even owing my very existence to him.

"Secondly, it no longer matters, except for one very important thing."

"H'm? I mean, go on."

"It would make you both feel better, if she wasn't exactly a duck to begin with. May I suggest that you both feel guilty about what's happened? Duck for betraying what she's always believed was her real nature, and finally getting something she wasn't supposed to want. You, for the same thing, but also for not doing anything until you knew what you should do– and that time may never have come– and finally being forced to act, without consulting her, and not knowing if you could really do it. Not to be nosy, Fakir, but I think you both wanted her to be human, very badly. So have Rue and myself, since we found out that she still kept her own mind."

_There was never any point in being angry with Mytho_, thought Fakir sourly. "All right, I wished back then that she'd stay a girl, if only because she wanted to. That's how she was happiest. It didn't work that way. We both knew it wouldn't. But we both kept our word, and we've lived with the consequences."

"And that, my brother, is why you need never fear becoming another Drosselmeyer. I'd tell Duck all this, the sooner the better, upon one condition: Not until after breakfast. The sun isn't even up yet. Do try to get some sleep now."

* * *

They spent the last night with the Brauns'; the next morning they would start for the nearest town and travel back to Goldkrone by coach, although Rue planned to keep the gaited mare she'd ridden. It would take most of the week left before the start of fall term at the Academy. Duck would have joined Rue in helping Frau Braun with supper, but the Prince steered her outside, offering her his arm and walking her down a lane between two of the fields.

It felt a little strange, but not uncomfortable. It was the first time they'd spoken privately for any length of time in over a year. Then she would have been tongue- tied lest she express her devotion, but now there was neither embarrassment nor fear; still, she knew there was something on his mind, and things she ought to say.

"Duck," he said finally, "what amazes me is that you haven't said one word of blame in all of this. I'm sorry, deeply sorry, for getting you into that mess...."

"Don't be silly. I volunteered, remember? If anything, I should at least have told you or Fakir that I was feeling things after I touched the feather the first time. I didn't, and it found a chance to catch me. It's as much my fault as anyone's, and really," said Duck, "once I met the Firebird, I couldn't blame her either. She left that feather for Stefan, who knew what she was. She didn't realize he was hurt that badly, I think, or that he couldn't understand what she wanted."

"Nevertheless, we show up for a visit and a little research, and nearly get you killed. It wasn't supposed to happen that way."

"Nothing did go the way it was supposed to, did it, though? I think that's how everything goes when you grow up, right? But you and Rue have kept your word...."

"In truth, you kept it for us."

".... And I have something I've wanted. When I couldn't give you the last shard of your heart, it wasn't because I wanted to stay Princess Tutu. I just wanted to be a girl, and you and Rue might have died because of me...."

_Ah_, he thought, _I'd forgotten. Not just for going against her nature._ Aloud he said, "You did it, though. You saved us, and then the whole town. What made you Princess Tutu is part of me, but you know something I never will, which is what she was like– what it felt like to be her. I can call upon the same powers, but not out here, not any longer. That belongs to the story. They would have come in useful a few days ago. What I _have_ been wondering is how you're doing as a human. You seem to be adapting well. Again."

"I'll be okay. I'm enjoying it. Honestly, it was nice being a duck for a little while, especially somewhere safe; but not for that long. It was like what Rue said about where you went, a place to be myself for a while, until I could sort everything out. But I was the only one like me. I didn't make such a good duck anymore, and I was terrified of losing my memories and feelings. Then I molted so late, and I was just as scared about that as the Firebird was, I think.

"Anyway, that's over with." She gave the Prince a shrewd look. "Just like me being Princess Tutu is over and done. If you want to know what it was like to be her, well, I learned a lot– she was smarter than I was. I remember how she thought and if I ever go up _en pointe_ I'll remember a lot about that too, what it felt like to do it absolutely perfectly.

"The problem was that she was one of your feelings. I've had a year and still haven't figured it all out," said Duck slowly. "Tutu couldn't come out of thin air, someone had to play her, but it was closer to the other way around. Even as a duck I, um, had a crush on you, like half the underclass girls did, but left to myself I would have been happy to see you happy. Princess Tutu had no choice, though; she had to love you with everything she had. She had to gather your heart together, then– well, it got complicated. One way or another she had to be with you, or neither of you could be whole." She paused, her face flaming red. "If no one had found out that she only appeared because of a heart shard... I don't know. I think things could have gotten pretty awkward. _I_ wasn't ready to handle feelings like that, and they started sort of leaking into me, almost at once. I told Fakir once, but we still didn't figure it out."

"Fakir told me once that the heart shards found people who were vulnerable to particular emotions and made those feelings stronger," suggested the Prince.

"Well, yes. They did– Tutu was more complicated than just one feeling, but taking a duckling's crush and making it into some great tragic love, that was Drosselmeyer all over.

"But now... Tutu is with you, where she should be. I remember her and the older I get the more I understand her, but I'll never have the same feelings for you that she did. Does. I don't think you'd be you without her. Have I made any sense?" Duck finished.

"Yes, you have. More than you know," said Mytho. "_I_ didn't figure out that Tutu only existed because of the heart shard until the very end, after you gave it back. I think maybe 'attraction' would be a better word even than 'love,' you know. The more of my heart I got back, the stronger the attraction was. I'll always wonder, though, why a ballerina...."

"Because the story was for a ballet. The same reason you liked to dance, even without your heart," said Duck. "You might forget a lot without your heart, like Kastchei did, but you can't just forget all of your feelings. And a ballerina because she was part of your heart. That was all Drosselmeyer though, he wrote it."

"So... any thoughts on why a duck?"

"No one else would do it. He let that slip out once. I didn't know the story well enough to know what I was getting into."

"H'mm. Fakir told you about that idea he came up with last night, correct? I wonder if that doesn't add weight to it; ducks surely aren't given to that sort of altruism in the usual way, are they? And almost the first thing you remember is talking with him, right? In any case, I told Fakir that I don't think it matters whether you started as a real duck or a character like me. I think you just confirmed that. My heart was in far better hands with you than Drosselmeyer planned, either way. It still amazes me, what you accomplished. Not just then, but this past week as well." They had circled the field and were within sight of the other side of the farmhouse now. Even from this distance the dark- haired figure helping to bring in the livestock drew her eyes.

"What, getting myself kidnapped and then caught and turned to stone, and on top of that being called a were- duck?"

He had to laugh. "No, seriously, Duck. All we knew of the Firebird was that she captured people and took them to Kastchei. You were the first to try to talk with her, at least the first that succeeded since Kastchei caught her. You helped her face what would happen, and turn it to her advantage and ours. No, you did well. Better than any of us could have done, no matter how much planning we put into the expedition." Duck's face was bright red again, but she didn't protest. _She really has changed,_ thought the Prince. _She's grown up so much in a year. So like Tutu, and so very unlike._

"You asked her to dance with you, didn't you?" She'd never really discussed all the details yet, about what had happened between her and the Firebird.

"Yes. She said she couldn't, but she sang for me," said Duck quietly. "So I danced for her. She started talking then."

"A year ago I'd never have thought of keeping an opponent talking or laughing, or dancing," said the Prince. "I think that's Tutu, as well. The part that will talk instead of fight."

"She didn't want anyone to be hurt," said Duck. "We could have gotten killed a couple of times last year because of that."

They arrived at the barn, still talking about Princess Tutu, just as Fakir was done washing himself at the pump. They washed as well, and went in to dinner.

* * *

"I don't think I'll ever be able to call her Princess Tutu again," said Mytho. "She seems to have spent the past year sorting herself out. I doubt she'd accept it even as a compliment now, despite what she did in the battle last year. She's not quite sure what to make of that, even now."

"I think you're right, my Prince," said his wife. "She's very determined to keep Duck and Tutu in their proper places. It's we who aren't quite sure what to think of it all yet, especially since she doesn't seem to resent having been Princess Tutu; quite the reverse. I'm happy for her. It was such a waste, having her trapped in a duck suit."

"A neat turn of phrase, and spot on," he agreed. "When we get back, how will she do?"

"She'll only be in Probationary for the first month, I expect. I know Fakir didn't write anything about her dancing, he didn't have time, but she's still flexible, and she remembers everything. And strong– it must have been that flight here. She still has more energy and stamina than I ever did. She has better balance now too. I wonder if Fakir hasn't been sneaking her into practice with him; it's as if she's been in lessons all year. Most of all, though, she's not in such a hurry that she'll hurt herself."

"Good. Being turned to stone didn't hurt her that way then."

"Not her body."

"Her mind seems all right."

"So it does. I was expecting nightmares, you know, but she's been okay," said Rue. "She's growing up. She's not quite so scatterbrained any more."

"Have you had any nightmares?"

"Me? No. He's dead now. So help me, he looked me over like I was a prize cow, and said he'd take me instead of Inga– I suppose she was his favorite prospect until then. He spent all night that night trying something new with the immortality spell on my account, too busy to look out and see you. I can't take it as a compliment somehow."

Her husband laughed. "No, you sound more insulted than anything. Fakir said he could hear you outside the walls."

"All of us," she agreed. "It was quite a trio. I did the hysterics, the Firebird literally threw a hissy fit when Kastchei tried to curse me, and he threw a tantrum. Somehow I don't think she could lie to him outright, though. Kastchei asked if I was alone, and she just said that the other one ran."

"Which was precisely true, of course."

"I wish you'd had more time with her. That idiot could have been the most powerful man on Earth if he'd treated her right. She didn't deserve what she had to put up with."

"If he'd been capable of treating her properly, he might never have wanted that sort of power. Well, anyway, we know where to find her for awhile," said the Prince lightly.

"Don't even joke about it," said Rue, knowing he wasn't serious. "None of us need that sort of power, not at the price of holding her as a slave. She gave us all something of herself, freely. We were given more than Kastchei ever took from her, and it's done us more good."

"And I believe you're right, my Princess."

* * *

Notes: The Laws of Contagion and of Similarity apply to how people believe magic works. The first, used to explain Kastchei's supply line, suggests that an item that has been in contact with another item maintains that contact despite being later removed. (The Law of Similarity applies to things having similar qualities– i.e., appearance or material– and says that the manipulation of one results in a change in the other; for instance, the common conception of the voodoo doll.)

Fakir's idea about Duck's origin did not occur to me until I was almost done with the action, and unknowingly had put all the pieces of it in place. I think it explains things to my satisfaction.

I have absolutely no idea how one would go about making someone legal in that time and place, but having a formidable Baroness breathing down one's neck might have expedited matters.

Program Notes: Almost entirely up to the reader. A waltz by Strauss does not have to be the _Blue Danube_; Johann Strauss II was noted for the quantity of his work. The rest of the party music would be live and probably mostly instrumental.

For the end credits, however, treat yourself to Beethoven's Symphony no. 7 in A-major, First Movement. You deserve it; your endurance is impressive; your patience will be rewarded.

* * *

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter of the Duck: Flight

This is a companion piece to Princess Tutu: Chapter of the Duck by Moon Shadow Magic. It deals with practically nothing that can be recognized from the anime, only from my story. Notes, Etude, and Disclaimer at end.

------------------

_Almost here...._

The hollow in the bare bedrock could no longer hold the Sun's heat through the lengthening nights; not at this height, where the clear, dry air was too thin to insulate the ground. As the Sun shortened its journey with the changing of the season, however, the inhabitants were preparing to leave.

The fledgling had been flying for some time now, learning how to use her new and unsullied wings. She was ready for the journey to the south, away from the cold and dark, away from the snow that now covered the ground outside the nest.

_A few seconds more...._

Uncurling from the warm ball into which she had settled during the dark hours, the young bird stretched. She stood on spindly legs, shivering a little.

The light came.

The fledgling raised her wings, holding them above her head.

The Sun returned.

The young bird faced it, gathering all of the light she could reach into herself. It was food and drink, it was strength and energy and warmth and growth. It was sight and, in its way, sound; splendid music, that a Firebird could only attempt to approach in song, and would spend a lifetime trying to express.

Behind the fledgling the other bird had stirred and risen, adopting the same pose, letting itself bathe and feed in the light. After a few moments, when the Sun in its glory had broken their fast, the older bird began to sing. The song reached out from the mountain peak; it could not carry over half a world, as the young phoenix's would someday do, yet its joy spread far. Then the little one began to sing too. She wove her music through and around her guardian's, never seeking to disrupt or overpower, but to complement.

The strange thoughts that had come to the young bird over the past weeks paraded themselves once more. Endless forests, a good place to be despite the snow. The ruined castle below, an unpleasant and sad place despite the people who were now coming regularly. People: two- legged, unable to fly; some were bad, thoughtless and evil... but many had kind words and did wise things and were worthy of service and instruction.

For the harsh winter they would fly south, where nothing interfered with the light of the Sun; but after she had grown, there would be those miles upon miles of forests and mountains with pure white snow, or long hours of summer light, where their kind belonged.

Somewhere _that_ way, much closer than the forests, there were people, good people; swan and raven and duck, and another, who bore a phoenix's quill. How she knew, she could not remember, but that wasn't important.

The larger bird was still singing. Wings still raised above her head, the young Firebird began to move to the older one's song. She tried to pirouette today, the rough stone slowing her before she could finish one revolution; she balanced on each leg in turn, moving the other out or back, in rhythm but in no particular pattern; raising and pointing wings and tail. The elder bird observed its young charge indulgently.

Eventually, when the Sun was well above the mountains, they allowed their song to fade out for the moment. This was the day. They both stretched their wings. The younger took off first, dropping down to see what went on today at the castle. No one was there yet, but above the head of the valley, on a rock a mile away, she could see a few people pointing to her. She did not fly too close, but she began the song again.

Above her the elder Firebird also sang to them, a bittersweet tune for the ending of the autumn. The younger ascended to join it, and they winged south through the steep valley, into the next, then beyond into the higher mountains. They chased the Sun each day until they came to places where it could not hide, and there she would swiftly grow to adulthood. Her guardian and mentor would stay with her, taking human form when it wished, to teach its charge how to speak with those not privileged to bear wings.

She would wonder, though, why one should move so to a song. The elder could do so in her other shape, but had indicated that Firebirds had never done such a thing, and that the younger was the first known to try to dance. It had something to do with the elusive faces in her memory that carried with them a pleasant feeling.

Perhaps some day she would seek out the source of the memory, but not yet. There was so much to learn, and to see, and so far to go.

-----------------------

Notes: This is for LunaSphere, who suggested the idea. I agree, there's room for it; with all the words, and all her lines, I never did quite get to the bottom of the character before she started over, except that she wasn't at all happy with her job or her boss. Thanks!

By the way, when reading the main body of Chapter of the Duck, see how many duck- and- bird jokes or sayings you can find. I'm still counting. I don't think I put in "lame duck" but somehow a good many others wormed their way in.

Etude: Maybe "Round Dance of the Princesses" from Stravinsky's _Firebird_ would be appropriate.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


End file.
